


Circuits (A Love Story)

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Horror, Dry Humping, Feelings, Hanzo really has trouble expressing himself, I mean he's a robot but, M/M, Masturbation, Premature Ejaculation, Right I need to update these shoot, Robot Anatomy, Robot Sex, Robot angst, Shimadacest, art prompt, moody teen Hanzo, public handjobs, robot boy Genji au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Hanzo never asked his father to build him a brother. Hanzo never would have thought to even want such a thing. But Genji is here now and Genji doesn't seem to be leaving and Hanzo is just going to have to learn to deal with that.Or the robot Genji au inspired by qyoo's amazing shimadacest week art





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So qyoo'a art can be found here: http://qyoo.tumblr.com/post/155312225757/day-2-alternative-universe-shimadad-is-some-kind?
> 
> Check it out! Give them love! Everything they draw is absolutely stellar!!!
> 
> Plus like...baby robot boys growing into robot men who love their totally human sad boy brothers??? How could I not feel inspired by that?
> 
> EDIT: We got more art, kids! Qyoo I love you and your talent! http://qyoo.tumblr.com/post/155899405282/you-just-close-your-eyes-and-you-kiss-it
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT EDIT: because whynotmyart is a beautiful talented and indulgent friend, we got MORE ART!!!! Tell them you love it! I love it! Actual tears are streaming down my face!!
> 
> http://whynotmyart.tumblr.com/post/157991501686/i-felt-kinda-bad-abt-the-piece-i-posted-yesterday

"Will you play with me, brother?" Genji asks, leaning his weight on the back of Hanzo's chair. His chin hooked over Hanzo's shoulder.

Hanzo hates when he calls him that. His innocent inflection over 'brother'. He hates it more than anything, hates his father for programming Genji this way.

Genji's chest moves against Hanzo's back, along his sloping shoulder blades. Simulated breathing. Simulated life.

He's been Hanzo's constant shadow for almost a year now, during daylight hours that is. Around eight Genji is retired to his own quarters, what Hanzo assumes are his quarters.

He doesn't like or want Genji so it's not like he's going to ask where they take him.

He disappears at eight, but is back at breakfast the next day without fail.

Hanzo's mild annoyance and discomfort is morphing into something else. Petty dislike.

"I'm eating," he tells Genji. Sharply. He pushes his eggs around with his chopsticks to make his point. Genji watches the motion with large eyes. "Can't you bother someone else?"

"Who else is there?"

"I don't know."

Hanzo had seen the gardener from his window, the woman had waved a cordial hello when she had noticed him. Hanzo likes her, likes the careful way she tends the plants. He would not sic Genji on her, she does not deserve it.

Genji tilts his head. His breath puffs against Hanzo's cheek and it's warm and real feeling, but Hanzo knows it's fake and he hates it. Genji's hand is touching his hair, Hanzo twists until Genji stands up straight, stops touching him.

"Can I eat with you then? If you won't play with me." Genji asks. He turns to look over the food Hanzo has left on the serving plates. Technically it is food for Father, but the man has sequestered himself in the lab once more. Hanzo hasn't seen his father in three days.

"You don't even eat. It would all," he makes a vague gesture, hand circling the general area of where Genji's intestines would be. If he had any. "And then someone would have to clean it out. It would be gross. Just sit and be quiet, Genji," Hanzo says. "We'll do something when I am done."

Genji touches his own stomach, fingers wrinkling the material of his tee shirt. His skin is slightly tan, sun warm. Hanzo can't remember if he's always been that way or not.

"I can ask father if we can go into town," Genji says. He settles in the chair opposite Hanzo. Taps his fingers against the tabletop in a mindless little rhythm.

Town. Hanzo only just manages not to cringe. Bad enough Genji can do nothing to hide the input valve so high on the back of his neck, the clearly mechanical circuitry that runs him. Bad enough that people will whisper and stare and giggle. And Genji won't get it and Genji will call him brother--

Hanzo cuts the thoughts off with a particularly vicious stab at his egg.

"I'd rather stay in," Hanzo says. Lying without really lying. He has no plans. He never makes plans, he knows better. His days pass in a relative blur of monotony.

Genji makes a frustrated clicking noise. Whines high in his throat. Such a human sound. He face plants on the table, rolls his head this way and that, groaning and overdramatic.

"Brooooooooother," he whines, giving Hanzo the side eye. Frowning with his entire face. "You're so booooooooooring."

Hanzo only takes a little offense at that. This is a disagreement they have almost weekly. Genji is ever the optimist. Hanzo is pretty sure he's just been programmed to never be sad.

Lucky him.

"I have some reading to catch up on anyway," Hanzo says and Genji's frown deepens. Absurd. Eyebrows scrunching together.

"Studying?" he moans. "But it's a Saturday and it's sunny. Just for an hour, Ha-chan, please. Play with me?"

"Maybe you should make friends your own--," Hanzo starts to say he cuts himself off with a hiss. It's so easy, so natural to forget that Genji cannot go out, cannot make friends.

Genji breathes and laughs and talks and jokes and moves and thinks like a real thirteen year old boy.

But he is not a real boy.

He is not.

Genji is looking at him. There is a faint blush across his cheeks. Programmed reactions. He licks his lips, his chest rises and falls, his eyes blink. "It's okay, brother," he says. He smiles. "I really don't need anyone but you."

Hanzo bites his own lip. Petty, it's so petty to hate the sincerity in Genji's tone. But the feelings spread along his gut, in his throat.

Awful and undeniable. Hanzo stands, abruptly. Empties his plate into the garbage with a viscousness it does not deserve.

"I don't have time for you today, Genji," he says. The plate shakes in his hands as he takes it to the sink. It clatters dangerously against the metal.

Genji looks down, sullen, and even that makes Hanzo feel bitter. Poisonous. He turns on his heel, he flees. Before Genji can do something even more awful, like start to cry. Most cyborgs do not have the capability, but Genji is cutting edge, state of the art.

An extra bit of cruelty from Father, with love.

\--

"Hanzo, are you out here?"

Genji's voice. Hanzo leans back against the tree and closes his eyes. Four hours of peace is all he has had.

He had fled from the kitchen to the tree out in the garden. His tree. His favorite.

He holds his breath, counts to ten. Like wishing it will make Genji leave him alone. But he's never been that sort of lucky.

"There you are," Genji says. Perfectly in sync with Hanzo's thoughts. "Are you sleeping up there?"

Hanzo had not been and he is definitely not now. But he doesn't move and he doesn't answer. The leaves of the tree rustle in the breeze. Dappled sunlight against Hanzo's skin.

Genji is staring up at him. Their eyes meet.

And Genji smiles.

"I thought you were studying," Genji says. From anyone else, this question would be leading. Unearthed hurt. Baiting a fight. But Genji is guileless. Absolutely sincere.

Hanzo doesn't know what to say.

"Can I come up there with you, brother?" Genji asks. "I've been pretty lonely, you know."

Lonely.

The word stings at Hanzo's conscious. What right does Genji have to be lonely. A machine. A toy. A plaything.

Genji's fingers cling to the bark with ease, pulling himself up. His sneakers scrape against the wood. Flakes of it, drifting to the ground.

Lonely.

Hanzo hates him. Hates the reflection of himself in that.

Genji's hand wraps around the branch Hanzo is sitting on. Stretched ridiculously away from the trunk. Open air around his torso.

It is not a terribly far fall.

Hanzo is moving before he's even fully thought about it. Genji's fingers under his foot, pressure on the joints. Just enough.

Genji makes a noise, a bark of surprise, pain, and then he is tilting, tipping. Open air.

Hanzo watches, open-mouthed.

Genji reels, dangerously. The nails of his other hand are digging against the bark. The hand Hanzo had stepped on pinwheels.

In slow motion.

Hanzo has the realization that this was the wrong thing to do. And he feels horrible about it, guilt curling useless and poisonous in his gut.

Genji seems to catch himself, his balance, anchored by that hand on the trunk. He brings his arm into his body. Shaking fingers against the wood.

He looks up at Hanzo. Hanzo breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Genji grins at him, cocksure, stupid.

And he slips. Sneakers not made for tree climbing. No grip to them. Genji's foot arches away from the tree. His body bows.

And then he is falling.

Falling.

He lands in a crumpled heap at the roots.

Hanzo braces his hand against the trunk. Leans as far out as he dares to assess the situation. Genji is moving. Not broken, heaving twitches, but smooth motion. He gets his knees under him.

He stands.

He sways.

Genji stares down at his palms.

Shreds and ribbons from the rough surface of the tree. Hanzo would be screaming, Hanzo would be bleeding. Genji curls his fingers over the tears. The colorless liquid, seeping slowly down his forearms. The motors beneath the synthetic skin.

Dark and shifting.

Hanzo drops from the branch.

"Are you okay," he asks. Serious. The damage is serious. Hanzo would need stitches after such a fall, probably. Father will be furious. The repairs will probably not be cheap.

Genji looks up at him.

"I'm fine, brother," he says. He's grinning. He rolls his fingers again.

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No pain sensors, silly." Genji tilts his head. He places his hand in Hanzo's when Hanzo reaches for him.

The motion is easy and natural and completely trusting.

Like Hanzo hadn't just kicked him out of the tree.

Hanzo feels more than a small shred of guilt at that. He rubs his fingertips against the torn skin, watching Genji's face for any flickering signs of discomfort. The liquid, something like oil, slightly sticky between Hanzo's fingers.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be. You didn't mean to."

He had though, hadn't he? He doesn't know how to explain that to Genji. Doesn't even know if he should. 'I wanted you broken and useless and dead five minutes ago,' Hanzo thinks, 'and now I regret that completely.'

Regret.

It is an adult emotion, but this is the first time Hanzo has understood the depth and scope of it. It is more than just a word, it is a series of feelings.

It is Genji's ripped palms.

It is Genji's soft smile.

It is the motors, ticking and clicking beneath the skin.

"I shouldn't--"

"It doesn't hurt," Genji says. "It's nothing."

"Genji."

The motors make noise, Hanzo has never noticed it until now. Clinking, humming, thumping noises. A heartbeat almost. Something akin to a pulse in Genji's wrist.

The only noise in the world between the two of them.

Genji leans forward. "You know, Hanzo," he says, whispers. Conspiratorial. "I've heard of a way to make these things better."

Hanzo doesn't know what he means. Genji's fingers twitch in his grip. Fluid smearing.

"You mean repairs?"

Genji shakes his head. He is smiling. "It's like magic, brother. But you have to believe, okay?"

Magic? Nonsense. Hanzo is fifteen. He is too old for this sort of thing. But Genji's voice is so earnest. And his hands wrecked, ripped; the damage is Hanzo's fault.

"You just close your eyes," Genji says. His breathing seems to catch when Hanzo obeys. A hitch in the rhythm. "And you kiss it better."

Kiss it.

Better.

Hanzo's eyes flutter open. He is blushing. This is a joke at his expense. But Genji is no longer smiling, and he isn't frowning. He looks just as apprehensive as Hanzo feels. The mechanical beating of his pulse has sped up, increased. His pupils are dilated, complete darkness in his irises.

He doesn't mean it as a joke.

Kiss it better.

What's the harm?

Hanzo closes his eyes again. Pulls Genji's hand up to his face. The fake skin, the whirring motors, the pulse, the clear blood-like liquid--all of it is warm, terribly alive under his lips.

Thrumming, magnetic life.

Pulsing, vibrating and real.

Hanzo kisses the damage, close-mouthed, non-sensual. Quick pecks.

Something is wrong here.

Something is terribly wrong.

He is uncomfortable again. It bites his conscious. Guilt.

Genji grins at him. Hanzo cannot grin back. He is fifteen and this is the first time he has felt anything like this. He can taste his own pulse in the back of his throat, tight and drawing like a noose. Pressure in his chest.

The damage to Genji's hands has not changed. The liquid smears against Hanzo's chin.

"I guess we didn't believe hard enough," Genji says. He is still whispering. A secret between the two of them.

Hanzo wipes his chin. The fluid leaves a residue, slick and filmy. Hanzo is fifteen. The connotations, the connections come unbidden.

Genji is smiling at him.

Hanzo looks away. "Come on," he says, frowning. "We should get you to Father."

"I can go myself. I wouldn't want you to..." Genji removes his hands from Hanzo's grip. "He doesn't have to know. I mean. You were studying, right? You weren't here."

"Genji."

He shakes his head, a flippant motion. He seems older in that second than thirteen. Because he is older. He is not thirteen. He is a machine, ageless. "Just...this time, Hanzo. Let me have this. Let me protect you. It's not often I get to, you know."

Hanzo stares at his own hands, shiny and warm with Genji's blood, Genji's fluids. Whatever the hell it should be called. A piece of Genji.

Something of Genji.

The thought makes Hanzo's stomach clench, muscles tightening on reflex. Unknown, unexplored emotion.

Too much for one day.

He has had enough adult revelations.

Genji heads off toward Father's workshop and Hanzo returns to his room.

It takes a very long time to wash all residue of the fluid off of him.

\--

After that, it becomes easier to accept, even welcome, Genji's presence. Even when he is bugging Hanzo, even when he is whining, Hanzo only needs remember looking down on Genji crumbled at the base of the tree and he feels instant, flooding regret.

Genji is maybe not as bad as he had first predicted.

He is funny and he is joyful and he is smart. Of course it's programmed, Hanzo reminds himself of that on a daily basis. Genji was programmed to be someone Hanzo would like.

Someone he would love.

Like a little brother.

Brother.

It makes the host of those other feelings slightly more unsettling than they should be. The tightness in his chest when Genji leans in close. The way he cannot help but stare at Genji's lips, his shoulders, the induction port on his neck. The smooth lines.

Genji does not seem to notice.

He is as physical with Hanzo as he has always been.

There is no bad blood between them over the fall; Hanzo had never assumed there would be. Genji was not built for grudges.

"But I don't want to go," Genji is saying. Leaning against Hanzo on the couch so he can keep his legs slung over the armrest. His hair tickles Hanzo's cheek, Hanzo's chin.

It has been three weeks since the fall.

Genji's palms had been fixed the next day, like it had never happened at all.

On the television, the movie they had been watching continues on. Cowboys, gunfire, the whining of horses. Hanzo had not been paying attention, he'd been too absorbed by Genji's heat against his side.

And now it is eight. The nanny, Hanzo hates the word but there is no other proper term for what she does, shakes her head.

"You know I can't bend the rules," she says. "Mister Shimada would have a fit." She looks at Hanzo, helpless, waiting for him to back her up.

"But the movie is almost over," Genji argues, "and after Hanzo can help me. It doesn't have to be you."

Genji is looking at Hanzo too now. The both of them, staring at him. Genji's face so open and pleading. Hanzo shrugs, sort of shakes his head, a back and forth motion. Neither agreeing nor denying.

He has still never been to Genji's quarters. How his cyborg brother spends his nights is a mystery.

Genji's eyes are watery, huge. Hanzo sighs.

"He's right," he says, tipping his head again. More sure this time, nodding. "I can take him up once the movie is finished. It isn't a big--"

"Thank you, brother!" Genji yells, twisting to loop his arms around Hanzo's neck. His breath warming the fabric of Hanzo's sweater. Slightly moist against Hanzo's shoulder.

The nanny shakes her head, holds up her hands. "I'm not here to argue with the pair of you," she says. "If your father has a problem with it--"

"I'll take the blame," Hanzo assures her. His fingers card through Genji's hair. Genji picks his head up from where it is nuzzled into Hanzo's bicep. His cheeks are flushed pink, he is smiling from ear to ear.

It makes Hanzo smile too. Just a little bit.

The nanny shakes her head again, twists her hands in another helpless gesture. She leaves the room, mumbling to herself. Something about bad influences that Hanzo can't quite catch.

It doesn't matter anyway.

Genji ignores her departure completely. He curls his knees under him, lying on his side now, instead of his back. His head comes to rest in Hanzo's lap. Hanzo's hands still in his hair. Genji settles, his muscles relaxing all at once, and he sighs.

"That feels nice, Ha-chan," he says. His eyes are fluttering shut, paying only the barest amount of attention to the film. More than Hanzo at any rate. Hanzo cannot tear his gaze away from the color of Genji's skin next to his hands. The difference in their skin tones. They hardly feel different. Genji's synthetic skin is the highest quality, warm and thrumming with his mechanical pulse.

Hanzo pets through Genji's hair. Traces the shell of his ear. Lets his thumb drop against the induction port. Warm, smooth metal. Blinking green lights. Hanzo covers one with his finger, watches the light escape from beneath his skin.

Genji is breathing.

Just a little bit too controlled.

"Are you okay?" Hanzo asks.

Genji makes a sound, rolling, rumbling assent. "It's just...sensitive," he says. He rolls his head, to look at Hanzo's face.

Sensitive.

Hanzo's hand is trapped beneath Genji's head, still cupping the round sensor. His hand keeping Genji's head from rubbing fully against his crotch.

The thought is mortifying. It shatters over Hanzo is a slow-breaking wave. His cock twitches against the back of his hand and he is suddenly grateful Genji won't feel it. His fingers tense and release against the input sensor and Genji bites his lip.

Oh God, it's bad. It's so bad.

Hanzo feels that noose again. His breath coming short. He can't pull in enough oxygen. His palms are sweating. The back of his knees. His body has a thousand demands, a million.

Genji's lips are pink, distracting. They are moving.

"Hanzo?" He is saying.

The question in it.

"Brother," he says. His fingers raise to touch Hanzo's face. Trace Hanzo's lips, the sensitive skin there seems to buzz with Genji's manufactured pulse.

Hanzo shakes his head.

He clutches at the sensor, rubbing the flat of his palm against it. He doesn't know what he's doing. He can't stop it. The wiggling of his hand provides an unneeded layer of stimulation to his cock. Genji's eyes flutter, lips working over his breathing.

This is wrong.

This is so wrong.

Hanzo has to stop. He has to. He has to. It's gone too far already. Genji--ageless as he may be, a cyborg, a robot, a programmed conscious--has the body of a child. Of Hanzo's brother. He was meant to be Hanzo's brother.

"Brother," Genji says again, breathless. "Ha-chan, just a little--"

This rape, in some sense. Hanzo recognizes that. It isn't diminished by the fact that Genji isn't a person.

He rips his hand out from between them. Moves before he can reconsider. Genji spills to the floor.

Hanzo clutches himself. Crosses the room to stand by the television. Gripping his own elbows. The plaster of the wall is cool against his over-heated skin.

He can hear Genji, sitting up, shuffling around. He will not look at him. And Genji does not approach him.

"Brother?"

"Don't call me that," Hanzo says, suddenly, desperate. "Please, Genji. Just...use my name, okay?"

He can't see Genji's reaction. The wall is mercifully, absolutely blank. Hanzo shudders, trying to will his erection away. The silence stretches between them.

Hanzo swallows.

He touches the wall. Presses the flat of his palm to it. He can still feel Genji's warmth in his skin.

Silence.

Silence.

The credits in the movie are rolling. The music swells in a triumphant crescendo.

Silence from Genji.

Hanzo turns.

He has to.

Genji is staring at him. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth. He is not crying.

"I'm sorry, Hanzo," he says. Hanzo's name comes slowly off of his tongue. Not brother, not Ha-chan. "Did I...do something wrong?"

Hanzo closes his eyes. "No," he says, "you didn't do anything." It's me, he wants to say, I'm the fucked up one. But the words won't come. Hanzo leans against the wall, drained, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Genji, I know that must have been...strange."

Genji stares at him. His eyes narrow. "I know about sex, Hanzo," he says, simply. "You don't have to be sorry."

How? Hanzo wants to ask. How do you know? Like loneliness. Like remorse. How can you understand?

He doesn't ask though. He shakes his head. He clutches his hand to his chest. The thrumming memory of Genji's pulse still beats in his fingers.

Genji is frowning at him.

He puffs an exaggerated sigh when Hanzo shows no sign of calming down.

"The movie is over," he says, tipping his head to the screen. Previews for the next film are playing. The same triumphant theme, so inappropriate for the moment.

"Will you still take me up, at least?" Genji asks. He stretches, something in him clicks and pops.

"Do you need the help?"

"I could use it." Genji makes a face. His cheeks puff-up with his frown. "I wasn't trying to scare you, Hanzo. Do you know that?"

"Yes."

Genji nods once, curt. "Okay," he says, "so then nothing has to change."

Nothing has to change. Genji's eyes, fluttering shut in pleasure. Genji's teeth biting into his own lip. Genji groaning. Nothing has to change. Hanzo swallows.

"Okay," he says. "So we won't let it."

"And I can call you brother?"

"If you have to."

Genji grins, all teeth. "I want to. To bed, brother. I just need a hand with the hook-ups."

\--

Genji walks him to one of the unused labs on the second floor. He waits while Genji keys in the access code. Hanzo does not ask the numbers. Genji does not offer them.

Nothing has to change.

But something has.

Genji seems quiet, contemplative.

The unused lab has been converted into something resembling a bedroom. Shelves of books on one side. A small television. An ancient game system hookup. Hanzo recognizes the Sony logo, but not much else. A stack of games lay beside it. Neat and orderly.

There is a bed too. One pillow and a thin sheet. A dresser next to it that Hanzo assumes is filled with clothes.

A table on the far wall and a plug-in the size of Hanzo's forearm hanging from the ceiling are the only things out of place. The table is strewn with hardware, screwdrivers, flotsam bits of wire. A blank black case Hanzo guesses has something to do with memory storage.

The hook up is probably the scariest thing. Cold. Very much mechanical.

Hanzo can see, with little imagination, how easily it will fit in Genji's in-port. Umbilical. Genji is standing on the bed, tugging the plug down to him.

"What do you do in here," Hanzo asks as Genji passes the cord to him. It seems to move easily enough, the wire has more give than Hanzo would have guessed for something so thick.

Genji shrugs. "Sleep mostly," he says. "If can't or if I'm getting an upgrade, I read or..." He indicates the game system. "I keep myself entertained."

"An upgrade? Like version software?"

Genji shakes his head. He is blushing. "I don't pretend to understand it myself. That's just what dad calls them. 'Upgrades'," he adds the air quotes this time, "it's uhh...behavioral patterns for the most part. I think."

"And if you don't plug in once a night?"

Genji shrugs again. "Never tried it. You don't have to pretend to be interested in this stuff, brother. I kind of like it better when you just treat me like...normal, I guess."

But Hanzo is interested. Father has spent the entirety of Hanzo's life working and slaving over and upgrading the AI that became Genji. The robot parts, the cyborg mind.

For all intents and purposes, despite Hanzo's discomfort with the word, Genji is his brother.

Almost more so a labor of love than Hanzo himself.

He rolls the plug between his hands. "And so this?" he asks.

Genji nods. Sits himself on the edge of his spartan bed. Back to Hanzo. He reaches back, twists something on the induction port and the little doors of it slide open.

He does not shudder in pleasure until Hanzo touches him. And even that is muted. Like he is trying to tamp down on it. Hanzo wonders if it is like this for the nanny as well.

Or if this is just for Hanzo.

Terrible.

Sinful. 

He slides the plug home and Genji's breathing hitches. Not pleasure in the sound, not pain. Just hissing conformation of connection.

Hanzo thinks of the fluids that stained his hands. Clear and sticky. His fingers on Genji's neck.

Genji turns his head, this way and that. The umbilical tracks the movement but doesn't seem to restrict him at all.

"Are you--"

"All good," Genji says. Grinning over his shoulder. "Thanks, big brother."

Big brother.

Brother.

Hanzo clenches his hands at his sides. Nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah anytime, Genji."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves time skips, right? Good.

Years pass. One year, two. Hanzo does a remarkable job, ignoring the feelings he can no longer outright deny about Genji.

Love.

Under that lust.

And under that, further still, love again.

Genji does not press the issue, does not bring it up again. Hanzo, on and off in the years that follow, wonders if somehow it has been wiped from him memory.

Two years and it still hasn't left Hanzo.

The images replay for him at the most in-opportune times. Slow-motion, drawn out. The lewd fantasies of a fifteen year old, rewound and replayed even at seventeen, spare months from his eighteenth birthday.

Hanzo doesn't know the way to properly deal with it. Can't take his problem to Father, the thought alone is mortifying. He cannot approach any of the house staff either. His tutor, the nanny, the gardener, the chef, they are all extensions of his father. Branches of him, eyes and ears for him.

So for two years, Hanzo keeps his terrible secret. His shameful desires.

Genji grows.

Hanzo watches the changes with feigned disinterest.

Genji, in two years, goes from being a round-faced, big-eyed child to a gangly teen. Their father builds into him all the awkwardness of puberty. Hanzo finds it exceedingly cruel. His limbs are awkward and too-long. All elbows and knees and scrappy thinness. His face gets leaner, handsome.

Hanzo tries not to think about how absolutely handsome Genji becomes. Even when he dyes his hair green (which Father allows, which he doesn't even question, and Hanzo feels betrayed and jealous at that) it only serves to accent the brown of his eyes, the warm tones of his skin.

Hanzo suffers.

For nearly three years.

"A letter came for you," Genji says at breakfast one morning. His tone is hesitant.

Father, gracing them with his presence for once, looks up from his coffee.

The mail does not come this early.

Hanzo watches Genji fidget.

"For me?" Hanzo asks when it is clear Genji will not volunteer anymore information on his own.

Genji won't meet his gaze. His arms are crossed on the table. Elbows sharp points, wrinkling the table cloth. He is staring at Father's mostly untouched plate. He swallows, nods once.

"Yes," he says. "It came in three days ago."

"Is it--why didn't you tell me? Genji, I don't--was it--? Did you open it--," Hanzo bites his tongue. Too many questions well up within him. Too many possibilities. He has applied to four different universities. Two are close to home.

Two are very far.

Genji meets his gaze. Blushing, guilty. Hanzo recognizes the ducked head, the slightly jutting jaw. His own tells, mirrored back at him. "I'm sorry, brother."

Their father says nothing. He has not moved since the conversation started. His mug still rests against his lip. His eyes move from Genji to Hanzo and back.

"Sorry?" Hanzo asks. He feels shell-shocked. Ripped open. Genji is sorry. Hanzo shakes his head.

"I should have...told you sooner," Genji shrugs. He licks his lips. He produces the letter. Thick envelope, unopened, shaking just slightly in his grip. "I just..."

Hanzo recognizes the seal. The letter is from one of the universities in England. Genji is talking still, explaining, but Hanzo can't hear him over the roaring sound of his blood in his ears. His heartbeat, impossibly loud, twitching suddenly in his throat.

This is a letter from a college.

This is his future.

The letter hangs from Genji's fingers.

Hanzo cannot make himself move to take it.

"Hanzo," their father says. His first words beyond 'good morning'. It breaks Hanzo's reverie.

His hand shoots across the table. His fingers brush clumsy against Genji's. Genji bites his lip.

The envelope is good paper-stock. The school emblem is navy blue against the cream of the envelope. Winding dragons of the crest.

Shimada Hanzo printed in plain English text above the address line.

Hanzo's fingers shake as he turns the envelope over. The seal is reinforced. Hanzo picks at the edge until he can slip a finger between them. He begins to slide it it open.

His palms are sweating.

Genji is watching him.

Father is watching Genji.

Hanzo feels a slight tug of hurt at that. His finger slips, sharply, at just the wrong angle. He hisses, retracts his hand.

A paper cut.

The blood comes, fast, beading at his fingertip.

"Oh, damn it," he says, shaking his hand at the sting. The bright, buzzing line of pain.

Blood against the cream of the envelope, now lying on the table. Crimson stain seeping into the blue.

"Are you okay," Genji asks. Genji, not Father, though Father is looking at him now, so it's something Hanzo supposes.

"Fine," he says. Sullen tone. He presses his thumb against the cut. The blood begins to staunch.

Genji is watching him.

Genji is watching him.

Hanzo meets his gaze.

Genji's chest rises and falls. Unsteady breathing. Nervousness in the lines of his shoulders, curled slightly inward. He is watching Hanzo like Father isn't there, like it is just the two of them. He leans forward just slightly. Hand extended.

Hanzo, as Genji had those years ago, places his hand, his wound, into his brother's waiting palm.

"Already tacking up, brother," Genji says with a small grin. Touching the edges of the cut, delicate, delicate. It still stings, bites, superficial wound or not.

"Shall I kiss it better?" Genji asks.

Time

Absolutely

Stops

Hanzo

cannot

seem  
to

catch  
his breath.

Father.

Father.

Is watching them.

Father is watching them.

Genji is smiling. Genji has not looked away. Genji's fingers are gentle, tangled in Hanzo's. Shell-shock again, roaring terrible, rolling through him. Hanzo's throat constricts.

And Genji, fucking Genji is as innocent as ever. His question could be as innocuous as asking about the weather. Hanzo cannot even tell if he is referencing all those years ago or if this is just some pattern his programmed AI has deleted and is now repeating.

His fingers twitch in Genji's.

Father is watching them. His coffee has been lowered to the table.

Any reaction could be the wrong reaction. Hanzo's gut twists. Ignored longing surging low at the bottom of his stomach, the base of his spine, tingling upwards past his shoulder blades.

Almost three years he has suffered in silence.

And now this?

He rips his hand out of Genji's grip, clutches it to his own chest. "I'm fine," he says, quickly, too quickly. He cannot help but notice the spasm of hurt across Genji's features, the in-drawn brows, the moue frown.

It tells Hanzo everything. Intentional references, an inside joke that isn't funny.

Father is watching.

All Hanzo wants to do is flee.

Not even a full minute has passed.

The awkwardness, the tension, has Hanzo feeling sick. Wooziness in his legs, mingling with the shameful desire in his stomach. He is glad to be sitting down, he doesn't think he could hold his own weight in this moment.

But he has to. He can't be here another minute. He can take this awful, grinding silence. He chair scrapes as he pushes it away from the table, screaming protest of wood on lacquered wood.

His knees almost give as he stands, but he catches himself on the back of the chair. Fingers curling white-knuckled across the top.

"I should," he says as he stands. "That is I'm..."

Father is looking at him, only at him now. Father's gaze is brown and endless and judging.

"I'm going to clean it and I--I'm not feeling very well. So I think I'll just--"

"Ha-chan..." Genji starts to say.

But Hanzo can't hear it. He's going to be sick. He turns and he runs.

The private bathroom in his room is blessedly cool. Hanzo bends over the toilet, dry-heaving. Shaking. Kneeling before it.

Father had been watching them. The transgressions. The gentle touch. Genji is his brother, but Genji is a robot. It is Hanzo at fault and surely Father will see that.

Hanzo closes his eyes. Rests his chin against the porcelain. Slowly, the shaking abates. The panic leaves.

The curling desire stays.

Familiar.

Hanzo lets out a shuddering sigh. His mind, treacherous, repressed, plays out the scenario without his permission.

Genji's tongue against his fingers. Breath warm against his palm. Genji's gangly limbs curled around him, fingers in Hanzo's hair. Skinny shins over Hanzo's hips.

There is little needed beyond that.

Hanzo presses the heel of his palm against his crotch. His cock is hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers. He ruts against the pressure. His free hand curls against the toilet seat. Fingers slipping against the cool porcelain, sweaty, frictionless.

He groans.

He thinks of Genji, grinning around his fingers. Of his own hand on Genji's input valve, rubbing against it, feeling it open beneath him.

Opening for him.

Slick fluids across his palm, the fantasy and reality crashing, mixing.

Hanzo's hips hitch, once, twice, final. He slumps, coming into his own pants, staining them, ruined. His hand moist, slick with his own release.

He cradles his head in the seam of his elbow. Still balanced on the edge of the toilet. Hunched over it like he might still be sick.

This is where the shame kicks in.

Only this time, it doesn't. Or at least, not as much as usual. Too drained from his orgasm for it.

Hanzo pulls himself to standing. Shuffles from the bathroom to his bed.

A nap, it's what he needs to cope with this onslaught of drama. This two year denial broken by a single, innocuous question.

Hanzo thinks of the letter.

Forgotten on the table. Blood-stained. His potential future. He curls into himself, wraps the blanket around him. He doesn't want to think about it right now, he doesn't have the energy.

Hanzo swaddles himself away from the world, the responsibilities, the tension.

Hanzo sleeps.

It is the best rest he has gotten in years.

\--

He awakens from dead sleep.

He is overly warm. The blanket is still cocooned around him. When he moves his legs, his soiled pants chafe uncomfortably against him. Stiff patches, rough. Hanzo bites his lip.

Someone is knocking at his door.

Hanzo doesn't want to answer it.

He groans, pulls himself out of the bed. The digital face of the clock tells him that two hours have passed since he retreated to his room.

Two hours.

It feels like years.

Hanzo wraps the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he shuffles to the door. Shamefully, painfully aware of the stains on the front of his pants. Unmistakable. The drape of the blanket hides it well enough.

Hanzo opens the door.

"It's just me," Genji says as the door slides open.

As if it could be anyone else.

Hanzo leans his arm on the door frame, doesn't let it open too far. He keeps his hips curled back and away, obscured further.

Genji is holding his letter.

The blood-stains have gone brown. Someone has ripped the seal the rest of the way. The closure of the envelope flaps as Genji holds it out for him.

"Did you read it?" Hanzo asks.

Genji looks guilty again. But he shakes his head. "Father said I shouldn't."

"But you would have?"

Genji shrugs. Shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you when it came in. I didn't wanna--" He bites his lip, tips his head. His hair is muted in the light from the hall, not as neon as it is in the sun.

He will not ask to come in.

Hanzo's room has been a respected barrier since two years ago. An unspoken agreement. A truce.

Hanzo takes the letter from Genji's hand. Pulls the thick, folded sheets out. It seems infinitely less important now. The clutch of nervousness Hanzo had felt is distant.

Nearly non-existent.

Genji watches him read the letter. His expression holds all the apprehension Hanzo does not feel.

Hanzo's answer is in the first sentence. The other paragraphs are unnecessary details. Hanzo blinks. Reads the sentence again, twice more.

"Are you okay?" Genji asks.

The letter shakes just slightly in Hanzo's grip. Hanzo is aware that he is frowning. He doesn't know why, can't school his expression into one that feels more appropriate.

"I've been accepted," Hanzo says. He turns the letter outward, lets Genji take it from him.

Genji looks...devastated. His mouth open, lips parted in a little o of shock. His eyes scan the paper; brows drawn tightly together. It takes maybe twenty seconds.

And then Genji looks up and he is grinning. Like the expression of hurt never crossed his face. Like he is feeling all the ecstasy that Hanzo is not.

He throws his arms around Hanzo's neck and Hanzo--embarrassingly--has to shift to accommodate Genji's surprisingly solid weight.

The blanket he is still wearing does not fall off. Genji's breath is warm against his ear.

"Ha-chan," he says. "Congratulations, brother! I'm so happy for you!" His arms are locked around Hanzo's neck. Hinged at the elbow, his long fingers in Hanzo's hair and it's too much like Hanzo's fantasy for comfort. Their hips bump, brush, Genji's thighs are warm.

He pushes Genji off. Clutches the blanket around him with one hand. He snatches the letter back with the other. "Why," Hanzo says, sudden biting bitterness. "You want me to leave?"

"What?"

"I applied as a joke. I was never serious about a college like that." He's crumpling the letter even as he says it. "But you're so thrilled to see me leaving, is that it?"

It's lies, it's all lies.

He applied out of country to get away from Genji and Father and stifled atmosphere of Japan.

And now, his chance to take it.

The letter folds easily in his grasp. Wrinkling. Genji watches him, confusion in the quirk of his eyebrows. His half-frown.

"Brother," he says.

'Kiss it better,' Hanzo thinks as the balled paper tumbles from his fingers, 'God damn it, Genji, make it better. Tell me it's okay. Tell me you never wanted me to leave anyway.'

He applied out of country to get away. He applied out of country because he knew Genji would not want him to. Genji would be selfish. Genji would ask him to stay.

And now he is not. He is happy for Hanzo.

Programmed to always be happy for Hanzo.

Programmed to hug him and say congratulations even though it clearly hurts him.

Genji picks the paper up from where it has fallen. He smoothes the edges between his fingers. "I don't understand," he says.

Hanzo can't explain it. The contradictory, frankly foul feelings he is feeling. It's like being fifteen all over again. Pettiness in the small details.

"I thought you wanted to go?" Genji says.

"I didn't. I don't."

Genji hesitates. He looks away. Hanzo needs to hear it. Desperately. He needs to know.

The incident in the kitchen, at the tree, all those years ago.

He needs to hear it.

Programmed or not.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Of course not," Genji says. "Why would you ever think that?"

"So you want me to stay?"

Genji fidgets. On the spot. He licks his lips and looks up into Hanzo's face. "Brother..."

"Just say it."

"I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. Okay? Is that what you needed to hear?"

"What if I wanted to go?"

Genji shrugs, helpless. "I don't know," he says. "Then I'd want you to go I guess. But you don't? You're making this so complicated, Ha-chan. You're making it impossible."

He is, he knows he is. He steps back, presses his hand against his forehead. The workings of a headache. Too much emotion, too much stress.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Genji sighs. For the first time in two years he breaks the boundary. He follows into Hanzo's space. His hand wrapped around Hanzo's door. His foot just past the threshold.

"There's nothing wrong with you, brother," he says. Easily. Standing even with Hanzo now. Face tilted up just the slightest to make up for the height difference. "You're human. It happens. Complications in emotions."

"You're lucky, you know. Not having to deal with this," Hanzo says.

He almost misses the frown that flinches across Genji's face. The twisting of his lips, the wrinkling of his nose. Like the hurt earlier, momentary. Gone as soon as it has appeared.

He smiles.

"Ha-chan," he says. "I love you, you know. Even if you change your mind and go to England. I'll never stop loving you."

The words are too close. Genji is too close.

Hanzo feels his face doing something, twitching uncontrollable frown. Eyes squinting. Breath coming short. Backing up in his throat, tightening in his lungs.

I love you.

The first time Genji has said it in words and not just nicknames and fond euphemisms.

I love you.

I'll always love you.

Genji is looking at Hanzo's lips. He leans forward, just the slightest. An unconscious movement.

Swaying toward one another.

Inevitable.

Hanzo is still frowning when their lips meet. Skin catching soft against synthetic skin. Hanzo shudders against the feeling. Genji's warmth beneath his sensitive flesh, the thinnest barrier.

"I love you so much, brother," Genji says. His hand brushes Hanzo's cheek. Now that Hanzo knows to, he can feel the different mechanical process clicking under the skin.

Hanzo is shaking under his touch. His skin feels like it's on fire. Blush settling where Genji is touching him. Surely Father would not have programmed this. It must be a virus, some errant downloaded process.

But Hanzo wants it.

God how he wants it.

And Genji is so open, so trusting. Programmed to be. Programmed. Programmed.

"Do you love me too," Genji asks. A line from a bad porn, a poorly written romance.

Hanzo shakes his head, lightly. Not really denying it. Genji's fingers are warm on his skin. Genji's chest brushes against his pecs with every in-drawn breath.

"I don't know," he says, finally. Because he can't say yes.

Genji's expression, half-lidded, seductive, crumples.

Fails at maintaining any semblance of joy. 

For two years they have outright ignored the thing between them.

And now Hanzo denies it. That has to hurt more than the prospect of him going to England ever could.

Belatedly, Hanzo realizes this.

"Genji, I--"

Genji shrugs. Nods. Smiling away his hurts again. The grin is less genuine, sad at the edges. "It's okay," he says, "you don't have to--," he goes to step away, drawing into himself. Still smiling, God, he's still smiling and Hanzo cannot stand it.

He catches Genji's arms, pulls him in. Slotting them together. Hands shaking on Genji's shoulders, running down his back. Holding him close. Holding him closer than Hanzo has ever dared to before.

"I don't know what to say," Hanzo says. "I'm not good at this stuff."

Genji smiles, Hanzo can feel the movement of his lips against his cheek. "I already knew that, brother. Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you."

"Do you know what I'm asking?"

Hanzo closes his eyes. His fingers tighten in Genji's shirt. "Don't make me say it," he says. "Just let me. Let me stay like this. Please, Genji."

Genji chuckles. His fingers pet through Hanzo's hair. He smells like spices, ginger. Hanzo has never noticed until now. Has kept himself so distant.

"Take what you need," Genji says. Quietly. His voice is angled into Hanzo's ear.

There is no one in the world but the two of them.

"Take everything you need from me, brother. I would not deny you anything."

Hanzo breathes against him. The words mean so much. So little. Nothing and everything.

Powerful and humming and scary.

But Genji hugs him tighter when Hanzo tenses. Genji won't let him be afraid.

And Hanzo. Hanzo won't stand to see Genji that sad again. He will do with it what he can. Whatever that may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and see you guys in chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

"How was school today, brother?" Genji asks. He greets Hanzo at the door. He does this every day. His hand outstretched to take Hanzo's bag.

Brushing Hanzo's shoulder, his cheek. Tucking a miss-fallen lock of hair behind an ear. They do not kiss out here in the main house where anyone could see, but Genji has persistent other ways of showing his affections.

"Class was fine," Hanzo says. He slips the bag from his arm. Lets his fingers linger as he passes it to Genji.

They move into the house. One the maids, a new one, Hanzo does not know her name, bows as they pass. Hanzo tilts his head in greeting. Genji ignores her.

"I was thinking of asking Father if I could apply," Genji says. "Next year, obviously, but Q University seems to be working out all right for you."

Hanzo makes a face. Confusion wrinkling his nose. "Why would you want to do something like that?" He asks.

They have reached the kitchen. Genji lays Hanzo's bag on the table gently.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are...you're a robot. Isn't that sort of like cheating? Anything you don't know you just download." Hanzo sits at the table crosses his arms. "There's no teaching a robot."

Genji's expression goes flat. He rolls his eyes. "Glad to see you think so much of me, brother."

"You know what I mean. It's a waste of efficiency."

"Now you sound like father."

"Have you seen him today?"

Genji bites his lip, shakes his head. "Not since yesterday. I think he--"

The maid has entered the room. Genji cuts himself off, stares down at his hands. Hanzo is torn between watching her finish up her work and watching the dilemma play out across Genji's face. The blush high on Genji's cheeks.

"Something wrong?"

"It's nothing. I haven't seen him," Genji says. "That's what you wanted to know, right?"

Hanzo shrugs. Watches Genji with narrowed eyes.

The maid is now standing at the door to the garden, wiping the windows. She looks over her shoulder, gives Hanzo a small smile.

Genji's hands curl in on themselves on the table.

And then she is gone.

It is only after that Genji relaxes.

"What's going on with you?" Hanzo asks, because it is clearly something.

Genji shakes his head, vicious little motion. "I just don't..." Genji waves his hands, helpless. Suddenly, violently he leans across the table.

His mouth catches on Hanzo's, the angle is awkward. Their teeth knock together. Hanzo winces, but he doesn't pull away.

More time has passed.

It has been another three months since this part of their relationship has started. Hanzo is eighteen now.

Genji is...

Sixteen? Maybe. He has the body of a late teen. Three months has seen his limbs even out some. The width of his chest now matches their length. His face is pretty much the same.

Ageless. Line less. Heart-shaped and almond-eyed.

"She likes you," Genji says. Rolling his shoulders. His breath ghosting over Hanzo's lips. "It's obvious."

"You're ridiculous."

"'M not, brother. A lot of people like you. They could love you, if you gave them the chance."

"Like the maid?"

"Not just her." Genji touches Hanzo's cheek, runs his fingers up into Hanzo's hair. His eyes roam Hanzo's face. His pupils do not dilate or contract, the ratio of iris stays the same.

They hardly know anyone else.

Hanzo has not bothered trying to make friends in college. There is little to no gain in it, and people orbiting him for his famous name is the last thing Hanzo could tolerate.

But he has slowly been acclimating himself with going out more with Genji.

Stilted, public affairs. To the movies or to the arcade. They do not touch, and they do not go to eat, but Hanzo is slowly, slowly becoming used to being seen. With Genji.

Sometimes, Genji wears a scarf, bundled over his input. Hanzo breathes just a little easier on those days, though it is not something he would ever freely admit.

"People on the street watch you all the time, big brother." Genji licks his lips. "Like you're a god, passing among them. They stop and they stare."

'At you,' Hanzo thinks, 'you're the robot, you're the anomaly.'

He doesn't say it, he shakes his head. "You're over dramatic."

"And you're all mine."

Hanzo rolls his eyes. Genji is like something touch-starved, desperate. He is always finding an excuse to enter Hanzo's room, to distract Hanzo from whatever it is Hanzo is doing.

"I'm supposed to have homework tonight."

"Isn't there time for it later," Genji asks. He slumps down onto he table. Lounged across it in a way that cannot be comfortable on his hips. Bent at a ninety degree angle. Hanzo does not look at the curve of his ass, the steadily blinking in-port on his neck. He looks at Genji's hands instead. The wide-spread of them, easy knuckles, thin fingers.

"I suppose there is," Hanzo relents. He will make time for it later. It is only engineering, he has a natural sort of affinity for it. Imagine that, with an inventor for a father.

Genji tilts his head, chin wrinkling the tablecloth, to look up at Hanzo. Mischievousness in his smile. He straightens without using his hands, his spine clicks into place smoothly.

He holds out his hand.

Hanzo takes it.

The bag remains on the table. Hanzo will return for it later. After.

After.

\--

Genji's lips are warm. Surprisingly soft.

State of art. Cutting edge.

His hands are soft as well, despite the skeletal, mechanical inner-workings. The cording and wire that makes up his musculature.

His hands, right now, at this moment, are pushing at Hanzo's clothes. Working Hanzo's shirt up and over and off.

This is a relatively new development in the whole fledgling relationship thing.

For the first two months they have done nothing but kiss and cuddle. Clothed, nearly chaste.

"You're overthinking," Genji says. He shifts his weight, leans forward to place one of his hands on Hanzo's chin. "I told you, I'll stop as soon as you ask me to, brother." He licks his lips. "Are you asking?"

Hanzo is blushing. He can feel the heat, see the color spreading down his chest. Blotchy and unattractive. He turns his head. "I'm not asking."

"And what will you say if you change your mind?"

"Stop?"

Genji nods, approving. His fingers trail down Hanzo's jaw; his thumb strokes down Hanzo's throat, follows one straining tendon.

Hanzo bites his lip. His voice threatens to spill anyway, hitching breath, hissing exhales.

Genji's thighs, around Hanzo's waist, have their own pulse as well. Hanzo's fingers scrape against them, a rough, grounding sound of nails scrabbling against jean.

Genji's own nails curl against Hanzo's nipple and Hanzo cannot stop the sound this time. It punches out of him, low, from his gut. The clenching of his stomach, muscles contracting right below Genji's crotch.

"You are sensitive," Genji says. He sounds marveled, he is smiling soft and sappy like this is his first time experiencing something like this.

Hanzo supposes it is.

Robots can have first times too. First experiences, shy and discovering.

Hanzo's eyes flutter shut when Genji cups his pec, palm warm, rolling against his peaking flesh. It feels nice, soothing. Genji's left and right hands working him in tandem. Hanzo's back bows, pressing himself more fully into Genji's hands.

"Do you like this?"

"I did not say stop did I?" Hanzo asks. His eyes open, glaring. He doesn't want to talk about it. It is too much really, that it is even happening. To talk about it will solidify it.

To talk about it makes it real.

Genji grins. Leans down to kiss him. Once on each cheek, one to the tip of his nose. Genji's lips are moist.

"Yes, yes," Genji says, giggling. "But I have to check. I like to hear it. Tell me how good you feel, Ha-chan. Tell me so I'll know for next time."

Hanzo lifts one hand from Genji's thigh, traces the slope of Genji's cheekbone, the shell of his ear, traces into Genji's short hair. He wraps his fingers around the back of Genji's head, keeps the two of them pressed tightly together.

"I like it," he whispers. His voice catches in Genji's lips. He isn't sure Genji even hears him.

They are kissing again, slow. They have learned each other's mouth, Hanzo knows to nibble lightly at Genji's bottom lip to get him to stutter over a groan. Knows that breaking away to huff a sigh or whine against Genji's cheek is just as appreciated.

Genji enjoys watching Hanzo fall apart.

Hanzo doesn't know what the implications of that could be. What purpose that particular bit of programming could have. Or if it was ever intended to be executed in this sort of setting.

"Brother," Genji says. "Are you here?"

Not fully. Hanzo cannot seem to keep his mind from wandering. Genji sits up. Hanzo's hands drift from him. Curls in the bed spread instead.

"I'm sorry," Hanzo says. "It's just..."

A lot.

So new.

Overwhelming.

Genji nods, rolling his shoulders. "I guess I'm just not trying hard enough to keep your attention." He shifts his weight on his knees, drawing up even further. As if he would stand. Hanzo places his hands back on Genji's thighs, squeezes to stop his brother's escape.

Genji expression is downright evil. Curling smile, narrowed eyes. His weight drifts back. His ass rubs purposefully, fully against Hanzo's clothed erection.

Hanzo becomes liquid, melting, boneless at that first powerful thrust. His body fails, hips twitching up as his throat rips over a keen.

Genji has the audacity to laugh. His eyes are bright, sparking, glinting. His teeth catch on his lower lip. Absolutely predatory.

"Was that an orgasm, brother?" he asks. His tone is darkly teasing. His hips move with more purpose against Hanzo's crotch. "Done in so quickly?" he asks. "By so little? My easy sweet big brother."

It was not an orgasm. Hanzo's cock is embarrassingly drenched though. Riled up from the kissing alone. Completely wrecked now that there is even more touching.

"Genji," he gasps. His fingers curl and spasm against Genji's thighs. He touches the hem of Genji's shirt. The material falls over his shaking fingers, pressed against Genji's stomach.

The warm, unfamiliar expanse of skin. He cannot see what he is touching. But he can feel the distinctly inhuman buzzing of Genji's inner workings. He presses his palms flat. Is surprised when his thumbs brush against an indent. Hanzo lifts Genji's shirt with his wrists, loathe to remove his hands from where he has them placed.

Genji has a belly button. Shallow and clearly cosmetic.

But a belly button.

Hanzo shifts his thumb against it. Around it. Genji's stomach does not contract, only moves slightly with his breathing.

"Can you feel this?" Hanzo asks.

"Sort of. It's not...it's like my hands. No pain sensors, only a limited spectrum of feeling."

"I can't imagine..."

Hanzo's own stomach is ticklish. Horrendously so. These feather light touches would have him squirming and giggling.

"That isn't to say I don't have erogenous zones."

Hanzo could roll his eyes if he were't so fascinated tracing the lines of Genji's torso. Genji's skin is paler here, under his shirt, than the skin of his arms and face.

He has a tan. Not a drastic one, but a sun tan nonetheless.

Genji watches Hanzo's hands explore with an expression akin to wonder. He plucks the hem of the shirt when it reaches the bottom of his ribs--where his ribs would be--and pulls the material over his head.

Tosses it away.

The skin is flawless. No pockmarks or blemishes. Hanzo isn't surprised. He traces his fingers to Genji's nipples, dusky, perfectly round little things. He tugs one experimentally.

Genji sighs, but not much else.

"Not here either?"

Genji shakes his head. He was not built for this, the realization hits Hanzo like a bullet.

Genji doesn't have sensors in the normal, human spots because Genji was never intended to need to pleasure them. Hanzo's fingers grip tighter against Genji's nipples, shame rolls through his gut again.

It's been a while since he felt it so keenly.

Hanzo looks away.

"Are you freaking out?" Genji asks.

Hanzo does not grace him with an answer. He covers his eyes with his hands, sighs heavily through his nose.

"Okay, okay," Genji says, soothing. He slips off Hanzo's lap. Hanzo misses his weight as soon as it's gone. The warm, solidity of it.

Genji does not go far.

He lays at Hanzo's side. Curling against him, head pillowed on Hanzo's chest.

"It's okay, it's okay, brother." He breathes. His hair tickles Hanzo's nipple. Hanzo squirms under the sensation. "Do you want me to stop?"

Hanzo doesn't know. He curls his fingers against his face. There will be indents in his skin from his nails.

Does he want to stop?

He doesn't want to hurt Genji like that.

He doesn't want to hurt himself like that.

But Genji...He is perverting Genji's purpose, indulging in these base wants. These all-too-human desires.

"I don't know," Hanzo says.

Genji shifts against his. His hand traverses the plane of Hanzo's quivering stomach muscles. Grips Hanzo's opposite side to squeeze him in a hug.

"Then we stop," Genji says. He nods, his chin rubs against Hanzo's pectoral. "Then we stop," he says again.

And so they stop.

But Genji does not leave his side for a very, very long time.

And for that Hanzo is grateful.


	4. Chapter 4

Genji isn't there when Hanzo wakes up. Not particularly surprising, considering Genji is still ushered away daily for his nightly plug in.

Hanzo rolls onto his back from where had spooned on his side some time in the night. He closes his eyes and relaxes each muscle in turn.

The sun is not out yet.

He has no reason to be awake.

His clock tells him it is two am. Far earlier than he is used to getting up. But his body is awake; his mind is restless.

Something has woken him.

He does not know what.

He gets out of bed. The carpeted floor beneath his feet is cold, he curls his toes against it reflexively. He strips out of his now wrinkled trousers and pulls on a sleeping robe instead.

Perhaps he just needs water, or tea, something to clear his head.

The homework he has not done looms around his conscious, but it is not what is bothering him. It is something else, intangible. Hanzo, no matter how hard he tries, cannot place his finger on it.

The house is chill and quiet.

Hanzo's bare feet make muted sounds against the hardwood. Light stepping. Echoes.

The uneasiness he feels is inexplicable. Unsettling hollowness in his gut.

He turns away from the kitchen. Mounts the stairs. To the second floor. Genji's room and the other unused labs.

Light spills from under Genji's door. Flickering blue and white. The television, probably. Voices drift through the wood. Too quiet to have woken Hanzo, but now that he is closer, now that he can hear them, he isn't so sure it's the television either.

"Good," a voice says. "That's very good. Now other side."

Hanzo leans closer. His hair brushes against the door, fingers touching the frame. The voice is masculine, familiar. The distortion from the distance makes it hard to place.

"Excellent, Genji," the voice says. And Hanzo realizes it must be their father.

A late night test?

His knees itch. He doesn't know what he is intruding on, but it makes his stomach pinch and flex.

"I must say," their father says, his voice thick with something like laughter. Maybe. Hanzo has never heard him sound like this before. "It's quite an interesting upgrade to suggest. Not something I would have..."

His voice trails off, only tones now. Warm white noise. Moved away from the door perhaps, turned elsewhere. Whatever Genji's answer, it is equally lost. Genji's familiar tenor shifts into a chuckle.

Hanzo wants to run. He doesn't know why, but he aches to be away from this. The quiet, hidden intimacy he has no place in. That he has never had a place in.

He turns from the door. The watery light laps at his ankles. It makes his skin appear transparent. Ghost-like. Something dead, something drowned. Hanzo licks his lips.

He returns to his room.

He stares at the ceiling for a long while before fitful, uneasy rest finally takes him.

\--

Breakfast the next morning and Hanzo still hasn't forgotten. It sits lodged in his throat as he enters the kitchen. A piece of something that cannot be coughed out.

Father is at the kitchen table. He nods when he sees Hanzo.

"Good morning, Father," Hanzo says and he feels like he's drowning.

Genji is not there yet.

It is not unusual.

Hanzo sits across from his father. His father is absorbed in the papers spread out in front of him, not looking at Hanzo. Hanzo can just see some of the details on them, read outs and graphs. Technical jargon.

Genji's arrival is heralded by the ruckus of him thumping down the stairs. Awake and full tilt even though it is barely eight. Hanzo feels a stabbing, sinking coil in his gut. Childish jealousy, that is what this is. Hanzo recognizes it easily. He just doesn't know what to do with it.

And then Genji is here, rounding the doorway to the kitchen. Grinning with his entire body. Hanzo doesn't exactly know how it's possible, but he can tell that is what is happening.

Genji's face does a strange sort of shift when he sees their father. The man has looked up. His greeting to Genji is not much warmer than it had been to Hanzo. A nod, a tip of his coffee.

Genji half-bows. "Morning, Father," he says. In a rush. He looks over at Hanzo. Pink-cheeked. "Brother," he says, grinning. He takes in the scene, Hanzo with no plate, and he tilts his head. "Not eating?"

"I am not hungry."

He isn't, truly. It's more than just some grab for attention. A petty demonstration.

Genji frowns. Sits next to Hanzo. "Are you okay?"

"I..." Hanzo sighs, shrugs. "I am fine. I just."

"Yesterday you--"

"It's fine," Hanzo says again, sharply. Looking at their father. His head is bent once more, reading, not even a hint of attention spared. "I have class today."

"You should skip, if you aren't feeling well."

Hanzo shakes his head. Leave it to Genji, persistent, well-meaning Genji. The itchiness is still there, in his throat, high up, spreading toward his sinuses. But it is so hard to be really mad at Genji.

"I can't skip."

"Let me come with you then?" Genji asks. He crosses his arms, leans his chin on them. "I'll be good, big brother, I promise."

They are a child's words. He uses the cute form of brother. Hanzo closes his eyes. When he opens them, he catches Father's eye, the sliding gaze.

"Is it okay with you, Father?" Genji asks, seeing the shared look.

Their father's shoulders shift. He waves his hand, palm up, dismissive. "You don't have to ask my permission, Genji. You know that I think being out is good for you."

Hanzo has never heard that before. But Genji is chuckling, nodding. This is a conversation they have had before. There is an entire history here.

And Hanzo is outside of it.

"I won't embarrass you, Hanzo. Please let me come."

On the spot again. Again. Always. Hanzo shrugs, lifts his hands helplessly. "It's fine I suppose," he says, hating the way he just rolls over. How he cannot express the lodged hurt in him. The shards of it like broken glass, keen and cutting and cruel.

But he can't. He doesn't even know how to go about defining it in more than just instinctual feelings. Curling sensations in his stomach and arms. Lightheadedness.

Genji grins. Wide, triumphant.

If Father were not here, Genji would be kissing him. Hanzo doesn't know whether he is thankful for his father's presence or not.

"Thank you, brother!" Genji says.

Hanzo shakes his head. The train arrives at eight-forty. The walk is about twenty minutes. They have to go. They don't have time for this.

Genji pulls a hoodie out of the closet by the front door. Dark green with some graphic from a video game scrawled across the chest. The hood, bunched up at his neck, hides his in-port. He pulls on Hanzo's bag until Hanzo relents and lets him carry it.

"I'm going to take care of you today," Genji says. Tutting and formal. Playing it up.

Hanzo rolls his eyes.

So much for not being an embarrassment.

The train is empty at this time of morning. Early commuters have already gone through and the Shimada compound is just out of the way enough not to have a bunch of students on the line at this stop. Hanzo finds a seat near the middle of the car. Genji sits next to him. Hanzo's bag across his lap. His hand brushing Hanzo's knee.

"About yesterday," Genji begins. Hanzo can tell he wanted to have this conversation at breakfast. Father's being there stunted a lot of things for them both today.

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm okay, Genji."

"You aren't exactly acting okay. You're too quiet. Makes me nervous. I can't ever tell what you're thinking."

Hanzo sighs. He moves his hand just the littlest bit. So his finger can trace Genji's knuckles. Following each bump, each dip, to the end and back again.

"Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad, Genji."

Genji lets out an exaggerated puff of air. His whole body relaxes, legs stretching into the aisle. He slouches in his seat, head lolling boneless on his neck, until his forehead meets Hanzo's shoulder.

His breath is warm against Hanzo's upper arm. Hanzo can feel it even through his coat.

"Are you still willing to give it a try?" Genji asks. His voice is muffled by Hanzo's clothes, spoken into Hanzo's elbow nearly.

"Yes," Hanzo says. Because he is. This latest shade of hurt and self-revulsion has done little to dampen his desire for Genji.

"You could have continued," he says, quietly. The train is empty. Hanzo whispers it anyway. "I would not have complained."

He would have guilted himself about it though. This stumbling block of self-loathing and lust and love that he cannot untangle or seem to work past.

Genji shakes against him, vibrates just slightly. "Saying such things in public, brother," Genji says, tilting his head up to watch Hanzo's face. "You're filthy."

The train announces a stop. Hanzo misses which one. It doesn't truly matter.

The doors slide open.

They do not off.

No one gets on.

Genji shifts closer. The armrest keeps him from plastering himself to Hanzo's side, but it doesn't stop his leg from sliding against Hanzo's, brushing their thighs together purposefully. His arm slips under Hanzo's, guides it around Genji's neck. Between the hood and Genji's neck.

Edging that circular port.

Hanzo's fingers drift around the cool metal of it. Each light against his fingertips a hollow resistance. Genji sighs in a shaky exhale. But his grip on Hanzo's elbow does not loosen, doesn't give Hanzo means for escape.

"Hanzo," he says, craning his neck, his head rubbing against Hanzo's shoulder. "Do you know what it feels like?"

Hanzo shakes his head. Mute. Cotton-mouthed.

Hanzo thumbs the seam of the metal doors and Genji's eyebrows arch. A line between them. Worried almost.

"You don't," Genji whispers. "I know you've touched yourself thinking about me, big brother, but you haven't done it there?"

There.

The doors slide open beneath Hanzo's finger. The inside space is warmer than the metal would make it seem. Genji whines into Hanzo's shoulder as Hanzo's fingers trace the walls.

There is a slight lubrication here, slick and familiar. And wiring, a tangle of it, fixed in place. Hanzo quests the space gingerly.

He kisses Genji's forehead, the worry line. His temples. Genji is not sweating. Hanzo is sweating enough for both of them. His palms, his neck, his elbows.

Sweating profusely in his coat. Prickly and uncomfortable in his armpits. He lifts a finger out of Genji's port, rubs it along the outside ring again.

Genji trembles below him. Whispers his name again. Desperate and raw. "Hanzo," he says.

The train announces another stop.

Anyone who gets on will know what they have been doing. Hanzo's crotch is mostly hidden by his coat, Genji's by Hanzo's bag, but there is nothing subtle about Genji's breathing. Hanzo's sweating. Their flushed faces.

The train is slowing.

Hanzo delves once more into his brother's neck port. The weird, fucked up sexuality of it. He thrusts his fingers, quick and shallow. As if it were a pussy, an ass, his own, Genji's, it doesn't matter.

Genji hitches. His fingers press too tightly on Hanzo's elbow. Distinct bruises in the skin. Finger-shaped. Genji-sized.

The train doors open.

They do not get off.

Genji slumps against him. Panting. His voice rolling over a groan.

"Hanzo," he is saying, "oh Hanzo, Hanzo."

A girl gets on. She is wearing headphones, eyes locked on her phone. She barely spares the two a glance, finds herself a seat at the head of the car.

Genji's face is hidden in Hanzo's sleeve. Hanzo slips his fingers free. The doors slide shut behind them. The train doors hiss as they close. 

Automatic.

He wants to kiss Genji's brow again, the perfect fall of his hair. But the girl could see. The girl could easily look down at them.

Genji tilts his face up. His cheeks are stained telling pink. His eyes are closed. He seeks forward, blindly.

Hanzo tucks him tighter against his neck, instead of kissing him like they so both want. His fingers--still sticky with Genji's fluid, as colorless and thin as all those years ago--leave trails on Genji's cheeks.

He still feels overheated. Sweaty and tired and lightheaded.

But the train ride is almost over.

The cool air will help him feel better perhaps.

\--

Except it doesn't seem to.

Genji waits for him outside of the lecture hall, so it isn't embarrassment or longing that keeps Hanzo from being able to keep his mind on his studies. The teacher is speaking. Explaining the lesson.

Hanzo can hear her words. By their meaning spirals beyond him.

He fidgets in his seat. Stares at the dry erase board. Looks down at his notes. He keeps thinking of Genji, sighing, his own fingers sheathed in metal and wire. And beyond that, nothing. A shaking tenuous hold on the scene in front of him.

He wipes a hand across his brow.

He is still sweating.

He rubs his fingers together, raising his lip in disgust.

The professor is pointing to something. Tracing her finger back and forth across the calculations on her board. Hanzo watches the movement.

The hypnotic lull of it. He shakes his head, snaps himself to enough attention to dig his water bottle out of his bag.

The rustling disturbs the girl in front of him. She turns with a glare and shushes him.

Her arm is mechanical.

Hanzo recognizes the cut of it, the shape of the plates, the smooth lines. It is one of his father's. His father designed that arm.

He wants to tell her that. But they are in class and his throat is so dry and his forehead is on fire. Hanzo licks his lips. Cracks the bottle open and drinks from it.

The top slips from his fingers. Rolls away.

Hanzo watches it go until it is gone. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them, everyone is moving. Packing their things. Leaving. He looks over at the clock.

Class is over.

He missed it.

Slept through it.

He looks up the stairs. Genji is waiting by the door. His shock of green hair is the only thing that makes him stand out from the other students. He could just be another boy, enrolled here at college. Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose, grounds himself.

He doesn't feel quite as spacey as he had when class had begun. But there is a headache threatening at the edges of his mind. He can feel it looming, like a thunderstorm.

Genji walks down the steps toward him. His head is tilted.

"You feeling okay, brother?"

"Yeah I'm. I'm just tired."

Genji touches his forehead. Brushes Hanzo's hair behind his ear. "Do you have another class?"

Hanzo shakes his head. Only one today, and he slept through a majority of it. Mortifying. He stands, sways slightly on his feet. Genji's hand against his belly helps keep him from tipping, rolling onto the floor like his bottle cap.

Gone forever.

"Are you actually sick," Genji asks, stepping closer. Concern clear on his face. Hanzo shuffles his stuff into his bag, pushes it from the desktop straight in. He doesn't complain when Genji takes it from him.

"I don't know."

Genji narrows his eyes. He touches Hanzo's shoulder, just once. "Let's get you home," he says, "we'll figure it out there."  
\---

It's a mistake.

Letting Genji walk him to the station. An arm around Hanzo's waist. Supporting him, fingers tight holding the seam of Hanzo's coat.

It's a mistake.

Heading out here now of all times. The bustle and jostling students, breaking for the day. The noise and the cumbersome closeness. The crowd presses around them at the platform. Hanzo can't focus on anything except Genji's solid weight against him, holding him up.

Someone is yelling, talking too loudly into their phone. A group of people are laughing. It grates like nails in his head. The train gusts into the station. Screaming breaks.

Hanzo flinches against Genji.

And the crowd presses them onto the train. They flow like water, only Genji keeps him afloat.

He manages to squeeze them into a corner. Hanzo pressed with his back to the divider. Genji blocking him from the crowd, somewhat.

There is nothing he can do to stop the noise. Miserable, Hanzo hangs onto the divider and just wishes the trip over.

"Are you okay," Genji asks. Yelling to be heard over the din yet still barely audible. His breath trips across Hanzo's cheek, crowded into Hanzo's space.

Hanzo shakes his head. "It's noisy."

Genji grins. He touches Hanzo's chin, thumb sliding along Hanzo's lip. "Yeah," he says, "it is."

Hanzo, under the stress and the headache and the noise, still manages to go crimson. He looks around.

But not a soul is watching them. Too many bodies. The closest face away from them, block the view of the further away.

They are in their own bubble.

Surrounded by people yet completely alone.

And Genji's fingers feel nice against him. Ticking with a foreign pulse, something to soothe his racing mind. Genji steps closer, times it with the swaying of the train. His hand slips down Hanzo's sweaty neck, clips over each button of his coat.

The last one he undoes, fingers bumping against his own hip from their proximity. Hanzo does not look down at where Genji is touching him.

He looks up at the ceiling instead.

"Will you let me distract you, brother? Maybe I can make the noise seem not so close."

Hanzo licks his lips. Affixes the hand not holding the safety rail to Genji's shoulder. His grip is white knuckled already.

Genji's fingers, swift and sure, undo the buttons of his pants. Hanzo is not hard yet, the buzzing, deafening roar of the crowd has kept him soft, but it will not take long with this direct stimulation.

Genji rolls his fingers in the tight space, made tighter by how securely they are pressed together.

He cannot get a grip on Hanzo's cock. But he doesn't need one. The rubbing of his knuckles is enough.

Hanzo's cock twitches. Blood filling. Catching. Genji's thumb smears the material of his boxers against the head and Hanzo sighs through his nose. Cuts off the groan before it can slip past his teeth.

"I cannot wait until we are home," Genji says, still louder than Hanzo is comfortable with in order to be heard. Hanzo clutches Genji closer. "Oh God, brother I have so much I want to do to you. So much I want to see you experience. Will you let me, Hanzo? Please."

His fingers have found half purchase in the front flap of Hanzo's boxers.

Skin to skin.

Synthetic and warm and practically vibrating.

Hanzo bites his lip. Dares to glance around. No one is watching still. Genji twists his hand, the angle of his wrist is too extreme, it has to be uncomfortable. Absolutely would be in a human. But Genji doesn't seem to notice. Hanzo melts, leaning full-bodied into Genji now. Hips humping weakly into his grasp.

He cannot seem to pull enough air. The sounds of people have been drowned out by the roaring of the blood in his ears. Deafening heartbeats.

His own.

Reverberating.

His vision shakes, jostled by the train and Genji's hand and his own unsteady, racing pulse.

Something is wrong.

Hanzo licks his lips again. But they are dry and his tongue is dry. Sweat rolls down his cheek, catches on his lip.

Salty.

Horrible.

He catches the eyes of a person across the train. Nearly impossible over the sea of bodies. But it happens nonetheless. His gasping gaping mouth must unmistakable. The boy flushes.

But he does not look away.

Hanzo grips ineffective at Genji's wrist.

He wants to plead to stop. They can't do this here. Someone has seen them, someone knows.

But the words won't come. His voice echoes out of him as a grunt.

Genji's finger pushes at his foreskin. Slips it down, tugs it up.

Hanzo cannot.

He's never played with it like that.

The sensation is overwhelmingly intimate and heady and rushing.

The sound of his heart stops.

Genji's mouth is moving.

But Hanzo cannot hear it.

Hanzo cannot hear anything.

Everything is muted.

Falling.

Twisting.

Going dark.

Going out.

The bottle cap, bouncing once, twice, rolling the last few inches until it was out of sight.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

Darkness.

Peaceful.

Quiet.

Gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the newest art Qyoo has graced us with: http://qyoo.tumblr.com/post/156237832307/angst-scene-from-the-new-chapter-that-pulled
> 
> Ugh beautiful! Qyoo you're too good to me and this fic!!!!!
> 
> EDIT: More art! Qyoo!!!!!! You fantastic lovely!!
> 
> http://qyoo.tumblr.com/post/156449346282/the-ending-to-chapter-5-of-vrunkass-robot-genji

Sunlight on his sheets. Pristine and white. Crisp. Hanzo blinks.

He is awake.

Disoriented, he raises his hand to wipe it across his eyes. Something pinches the inside of his elbow when he moves. An unnatural outside tugging.

Hanzo freezes.

Looks down at his arm. And the IV raising out of it. Umbilical. He thinks of Genji.

Genji.

Tugging on his dick in public. Grinding up on him in the train. So lewd and wrong and overwhelming that apparently Hanzo passed out.

He tugs gently on the IV line, hisses when it does nothing but produce a burning inside his elbow. Where the needle end is buried in his flesh.

Hanzo sighs. Settles himself back against his pillows. His pillows, his sheets, his window overlooking the garden. Home somehow. He can imagine Genji carrying him and the thought, piggyback or princess style, is mortifying regardless.

What must people have thought?

What could they even now be saying?

The door to his room opens.

The family nurse bustles in. She steps back slightly when she sees Hanzo staring at her.

"Well, Hanzo, you're awake."

"What happened?"

"He's awake!" Genji's voice from the hall. Hanzo looks beyond the nurse. Genji's tall enough his hair and eyes are visible over her shoulder. He looks anxious, his hair is mussed, looks pulled on.

Hanzo can imagine Genji, out in the hall, guilting himself over this. A role reversal of sorts. The thought doesn't hurt the way so many of them do.

"He needs rest," she admonishes, turning to hold a hand in front of Genji. Hanzo can see the way her fingers flex against Genji's chest. Actually using her strength to hold him back. She glances over her shoulder.

"You've been out for nearly two hours."

"Two hours?"

"Big brother!"

"You may as well let him in," Hanzo says.

The nurse hesitates for a moment. Then steps aside. Genji is across the room in a second. Touching Hanzo's face, his neck. Gripping his chin and turning this way and that.

"Are you okay? She wouldn't let me see you and you collapsed on the train, brother, and it was like you were there one minute and then you weren't. Like a rag doll. It was so scary. Your eyes rolled up in your head and you," Genji is talking in a rush. Barely pausing for breath between sentences.

Hanzo waves him off. Genji sits stubbornly at the foot of his bed instead of shooing. He touches Hanzo's shin, fingers smoothing out the thin sheet that covers it.

But he shuts up, that's the important thing.

"What happened?" Hanzo asks the nurse.

"You passed out from what I understand. Your blood sugar was way too low." She gestures to the IV. "We're getting you even again but..." She crosses her arms, makes a face. "When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

Proper?

Hanzo shrugs. Half a poached egg here, some rice with fish flakes there. Eating has never been a huge concern of his when there are other more important things to worry about.

The nurse tuts. Genji's fingers tighten against his leg. "Can't be having that," she says. "Already bad enough with your father moping around anemic and doing nothing for it. We'll have to keep you on a diet. I want a consumption of at least two thousand calories a day."

Hanzo sighs. The IV itches.

"Can you take this out?" he asks.

She checks the bag, turns it in her fingers. "Not just yet, a little longer. Try to get some more sleep, maybe. Rest up. Genji," she says, "you should let him be."

"He can stay," Hanzo says. "I'd rather him stay."

The nurse makes a face. Her frown tightening just a little on the edges. "Very well," she says, "but you're to rest. I'll be back in a bit."

With that she is gone.

Leaving only the stern warning of her frown behind.

"I can't believe she doesn't trust me," Genji says. "You're the one who collapsed."

"I thought you were terrified."

"I was." Genji looks at him. His eyes sweep up Hanzo's form. Hanzo squirms, self-conscious. He's shirtless. When he moves the sheet settles against him. He is naked.

Someone has stripped him.

"I'm sorry," Genji says. "You really did have me scared."

"I'm fine. Just need to eat, apparently."

"I could have told you that," Genji says. "You're not doing yourself any favors emulating Father's eating habits. Locking into yourself for days at a time, all up in your own head."

"I go to class."

"Yeah and come home and study for hours. I barely see you on weekends. It's bad for you. You're becoming a hermit. Dad's a hermit. You don't want to grow up to be him."

Dad.

So informal.

Hanzo closes his eyes. "I am not like him."

"Come on, Hanzo. You're practically his miniature. Look, I get it--"

"How can you get anything?!" Hanzo snaps. "You're programmed to be the way you are. You don't understand anything about my feelings or the way I--you and Father, you're close. He loves you. The son he never had. The one he could make perfect; to every one of his fucking specifications. Down to the very way you--"

Hanzo curls his hands. The IV bounces, keeping him tethered. He wants to rip it out. The words, painful and searing, seem to strike Genji like a physical blow. His hand has risen to his chest, fingers clutching at the material of his shirt.

"The very way I what?" Genji asks.

Hanzo shakes his head.

"You have to finish it," Genji says. "The very way I what?"

"Love me," Hanzo says. "Because he can't. Because he doesn't." Admitting it hurts more than Hanzo thought it could. Even whispered between them it is too real, cutting and rending and awful. His insides, spilled out across his lap. To be picked through and devoured.

Genji looks away. He stares out the window. All green hair and ageless, seamless machinery. He sighs, his shoulders folding in and down.

"Are you not going to say anything?"

Hanzo was expecting the fight. He wanted the fight, somewhere in him. To come to fisticuffs and let it heal over. Rip it up and rebuild.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything."

"Will you believe me? What can I say that you will trust? That isn't programmed."

Hanzo bites his lip.

"I worry about it too, you know," Genji says. "Probably more than you do. I mean, it's my life, isn't it?"

Hanzo makes a wordless gesture with his hands. Helpless, speechless. What can either of them say?

"But you know, at a certain point, you kind of just have to stop caring. The programming only goes so far in explanation for how I feel about you, Hanzo.

"So yeah, maybe it's algorithm written deep in my head that says 'love this fucking asshole unconditionally' but it doesn't actually account for unconditional."

"Genji--"

Genji presses a hand against Hanzo's mouth. Shushing him. The door opens. His hand drops away.

The nurse has returned, Genji must have heard her coming. Hanzo looks down at his lap.

She turns the IV bag in her hands again, humming to herself.

"All right," she says. Her hands are gentle as they circle his arm, pressure on the little square of gauze that covers the actual needle. She is wearing gloves, rubber, medicinal, the texture against Hanzo's skin is unnerving. "Might sting a little."

It does. Just a little. Hanzo hisses. Genji's hand touches his leg. Hanzo wishes he wouldn't, they're supposed to be having a fight. The nurse wipes at the small dot of blood that beads inside his elbow.

"Now that diet," she says. Hanzo doesn't want to talk about it right now. There are a more pressing matters at hand.

"Two thousand calories," he says, nodding, absent. "I heard you the first time."

The nurse crosses her arms. "Hanzo," she says. He's never heard her sound strict before, not this way at least. "It's your health. That's not a game. You're still young, but these kinds of things can have complications when you're older."

"Right," he says. "Okay," he says. "I get it."

"Hanzo..." Genji says.

"No. Don't...don't do that. Both of you just...I am fine. I fainted. No harm done. I do not need to be babied by either of you."

The nurse uncrosses her arms. Her one hand touches her chin, the other reaches out, squeezes Genji's shoulder. Reassuring.

"Very well," she says, tipping her head. "I don't expect to be called back in on such short notice then again."

But of course, she will. Her expression says it all. Too like his father, she thinks Hanzo is cut from the same self-neglecting cloth.

Hanzo shuts his eyes. Nods. It isn't meant to make her feel better about leaving. Hanzo doesn't watch her to see if it does. Genji's weight remains unmoving on the bed.

The door clicks closed. Genji's weight shifts, spreading. His body heat leeched from the blanket warms Hanzo's legs.

He opens his eyes.

Genji is lying next to him. Face down, stretched out. The hoodie has ridden up his back. Hanzo touches the skin. Fingers tight against Genji's spine. If he presses hard enough he can feel the rods and disks that make up his bones.

"Why do you always do that?" Genji asks.

"Do what?"

"Remind yourself. My stomach, my back, my hands. Why are you always looking for ways to remind yourself I'm not human."

"That's not what I was doing."

"You can't expect me to believe you were touching me just to touch. You're still mad, I can read that much in your face."

"You're not mad?"

"No. You're annoying, I've gotten used to it. You overthink everything. Hesitate, hesitate, hesitate. But I love you for it. You wouldn't be you if you didn't."

"Did Father program you to seduce me?"

Genji laughs. His face goes bright. But he doesn't look away or duck his head or do any of the things he does when he's lying or embarrassed.

"No. He..." Genji shakes his head. Grinning. "Do you know what goes on," Genji taps his own forehead, "in here?"

"No?"

Genji shrugs. The motion is awkward with way his holding up his torso. His shoulder click. "Neither do I. I've seen prototypes but nothing...Father says he created a brain as actual and accurate as any human brain. But I dunno. I don't really care."

"So I shouldn't either?"

"I guess. I just...Hanzo, brother, when you forget that I'm a robot. Those times when you look at me and aren't thinking about it, God, Hanzo, those are the best times. Those make all the annoyances worth it."

Hanzo doesn't know what to say to that. He turns his hand on Genji's back. His knuckles trace the shapes under Genji's skin. 

"I feel like I'm always thinking about it."

"Sometimes it seems like maybe you aren't. When you let me kiss you. Or like on the train earlier."

Hanzo feels himself blushing. "Are you the one who stripped me?"

"I didn't want the nurse to see what a mess you'd made of your pants. You came so much, but you were passing out at the same time. In hindsight I guess it was pretty funny. I didn't know what to do at the time."

"Did people notice?"

"Not the way you are thinking. I managed to get you somewhat decent before anyone noticed you going limp. They all just thought it was heat exhaustion, I told them I just needed to get you off the train."

"Did they ask what you were?"

"I don't think anyone assumed I was anything but your brother."

Hanzo closes his eyes. "I was thinking earlier, how well you fit in at my school. You could have been another student, I don't think anyone would question it."

"Except for my port, right? That's what makes you so nervous."

Hanzo nods. Genji tilts his head to lean it on his shoulder. Hanzo glances down at him.

"I don't care what they say about me, Hanzo. I just don't want you to be unhappy."

"But isn't that part of your programming. Why would you want to sacrifice your own wants for mine?"

"Because that's what it is to love. It's putting someone else above yourself."

"You should be selfish."

"To prove to you that I'm autonomous?"

"I don't know."

Genji chuckles. Rolls to his side. Hanzo hand moves with him, ends up pressed against his belly.

"I know it's a learning process, that it will take time. But please, big brother, just know that what I feel for you is genuine. The worry and the love and all of it." 

"I will try to get used to it."

"Will you really?"

Hanzo nods. Closes his eyes.

"Shall I let you rest, brother?"

"Just for a little bit. You can stay though. Please."

"Of course I'll stay. Whatever you need of me," Genji says. "Whatever."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Art by Whynotmyart of sweet robot Genji is literally ending me and ejecting the soul from my body and into transcendence. I could look at this piece literally all day and probably never stop and y'all should too!
> 
> http://whynotmyart.tumblr.com/post/157064439106/vrunkas-robo-genji-i-took-some-creative

"Have you eaten?"

The new standard. A new procedure for the two of them. Hanzo leans his head back on the couch. He can just see Genji standing at the doorway. Upside down.

He has redone his hair. The color is brighter than usual.

"You weren't at breakfast," Hanzo says.

Genji grins, though upside down it is a frown. Hanzo twists, puts his arm over the back of the couch to look at Genji better.

The change is more than just his hair. It is his shoulders, his neck, the cut of his jaw.

Aged up over night.

It's always slightly jarring, these upgrades Father installs.

Genji palms the back of his neck. He is blushing, smiling like he's bashful.

"You're staring, big brother," he says.

"You look--"

"Bad?"

"Older."

Genji chuckles. "Father seemed to think it was time. Have you eaten?"

Hanzo nods.

"Have you really?"

"You look handsome," Hanzo says. "Even with your stupid hair."

Genji bites his lip. Hanzo can see the way the praise stokes him. Genji must not get praised often, Hanzo realizes. He has never really thought about it before.

He feels guilty for that.

More of his ignorance. His absolute refusal to accept Genji as more than just an AI.

"I had natto," he says. "With a fried egg and some rice. Are you happy? Is it enough to satisfy you, Genji?"

Genji nods. He crosses the room. Plops onto the couch next to Hanzo. Over the armrest. Messy and melting. All limbs and solid torso.

He ends up half in Hanzo's lap.

He is laughing.

Hanzo pinches his cheek in reprimand.

"How long will you continue to pester me about food?"

"Until I am sure you are taking care of yourself. A month and you're doing okay so far, but I know you well enough to know it isn't going to last."

"Break is helping."

"Yeah maybe. But school starts up again in what? Less than a month? You're taking more classes this semester, are you not?"

Hanzo sighs, nods. He pets his fingers through Genji's hair. The green is seaweed against his fingers. He has been making an effort. He really, really has been.

He drags his hand down Genji's cheek, touches Genji's lips. Genji breathes around them. The plush, pink flesh beneath Hanzo's fingers is slightly moist.

"What are you thinking about?" Genji asks.

Hanzo trails his hand over Genji's new jaw. Slightly squarer. A man's face. His throat, his Adam's apple. His chest.

It rises and falls under Hanzo's palm.

Genji is wearing a tank top. Such fashion choices should be illegal. His muscular arms, his unnecessarily prominent collar bone.

Hanzo curls his fingers to drag his nails along it instead. Tracing the dip to Genji's sternum. Even with the pressure he puts, no bright telling lines of red are left in his wake. No blood to raise or bruise or welt.

The blush of his face reaches no further than his ears. The pigmentation ends at where his carotid would be.

But he is blushing now. Squirming.

"Would you please talk to me? You're so intense right now, big brother."

Hanzo swallows. "I'm just...appreciating the changes."

"Do you like them?"

Hanzo nods.

Since the time on the train, they have little chance to indulge one another. Hanzo's fainting spell had left Genji too nervous for weeks, and then finals had driven Hanzo into further solitude.

Genji licks his lips. The moist pink sheen is maddening.

"Do you--" Genji's voice catches. He swallows. His hand touches Hanzo's, intertwines their fingers. "Would you like to see everything?"

"You aren't worried?"

"You've eaten properly, I think we'll live. If you faint on me, I'll never forgive you."

"I don't plan to."

"No lightheadedness?"

"Not this time."

Genji moves faster than Hanzo would have thought possible. Tumbling off the couch, catching himself on his feet in a move no human body could perform. His hand never leaves Hanzo's. He uses that grip to pull Hanzo to standing.

Genji is taller than him now, just a shade. Hanzo has to direct his gaze upward to meet Genji's stare.

"Did you ask for this?"

"Maybe," Genji says, grinning. His fingers twitch against Hanzo's. Thumb tracing the pulse in his wrist, jumping against the skin there.

"Is this the only change you wanted me to see? To show off that you're taller now?"

"Not even close. Let's go back to your room, brother. I want to show you everything."

\--

Everything.

Hanzo closes the door behind them. Hesitates a moment. Locks it for good measure.

He can feel Genji moving around behind him. Peripheral snatches of color.

Hanzo presses his palms flat against the hardwood of his door. Leans his forehead against it.

There is no turning back from this.

Hanzo wouldn't really want to, even if he could.

He turns.

Genji is shirtless. Genji is slipping out of his jeans.

Genji is not wearing any underclothes.

Not boxers or briefs or anything.

Hanzo is not fully shocked by this in the least.

Genji has a dick.

Hanzo has always sort of wondered. They've never discussed it, Hanzo has never had the courage to ask.

And now here it is before him.

Genji's dick. Nestled in green pubes. Pubic hair. Such a detail. And his hips, sharp, unforgiving points. The stretch of skin over them.

Hanzo leans back against the door.

Genji has a dick and it is as rosy and uncut as his own. Hanzo wonders, idly, if Genji has blush tones here as well. If he will redden and darken as his arousal grows.

There is, truly, only one way to find out.

"Hanzo," Genji says as Hanzo approaches. He holds his hands out. Hanzo pushes them away.

He drops to his knees.

His hands hover. Genji is a furnace. Even with an inch of space between their flesh, Hanzo can feel Genji's body heat.

"Christ," Genji says, "just touch me, big brother. Please."

Hanzo can, of course, not ignore such a request. The broken, lilting tone. He traces his pointer finger down the length of Genji's cock. The skin is a soft and real as it is everywhere on Genji's body. There are no veins or bumps, just perfect skin. Hardening beneath his fingers.

Genji's breathing catches.

Hanzo wraps his fingers around the underside. The weight of it against his palm. His thumb brushes into Genji's pubic hair and even that is soft and kept. Not wiry or tangled.

Hanzo can feels the mechanisms at work in his hand. Pieces sliding together under the skin, seamless. More than just a dildo soldered onto the apex of Genji's thighs.

This modification has been labored over, perfected.

Genji was built for this to work as it is. Hardening. Lengthening just a touch. Like a real cock would.

"Do you like it?" Genji asks. The apprehension in his voice cuts Hanzo to the quick.

Hanzo kisses his hip. Opens his mouth to scrape his teeth over the prominent angle of it.

"I love you," he says against Genji's skin. "Everything about you is perfect, brother."

He can practically hear the effect the words have. Genji's teeth gnashing audibly against his lip, a dry, huffing sound. His hands find purchase in Hanzo's hair. Knotting in the long strands.

Hanzo isn't complaining.

He's never wanted anything more.

He lets Genji guide his head. Genji dragging him to mouth along his cock. 

The skin jumps beneath the flesh of his tongue. Genji groans his name, he rolls his hips. His weight sways dangerously. Weak-kneed.

Hanzo grips Genji's hips. Cradles his cock with his tongue. He isn't sure what else to do. The tip brushes his cheek, leaking the same fluid his body runs on. It tracks sticky on Hanzo's face. He wants to tug on the foreskin, as Genji had his on the train, but it's already pulled back from the head. Genji is exposed, open for him.

He opens his mouth.

Genji slips between his lips.

The liquid that surges from him at that move is tasteless. Sensation but no flavor against Hanzo's palette.

Genji groans again. He's saying something. Repeating Hanzo's name, cursing and shifting. He doesn't thrust into Hanzo's throat. He just pulses on his tongue and lets Hanzo do the work.

It's harder than Hanzo would have thought. He tries to keep his airway open, dragging ragged breaths through his nose as he bobs his head shallowly. His tongue wraps around the length. He keeps his teeth out of the way.

It's a lot to focus on.

"You're doing so perfect, big brother," Genji says. He is panting. His face is blushing as he looks down at Hanzo on his knees. Flushed all the way to his ears. "I never thought you'd look so good on my cock." One of Genji's hands strokes Hanzo's chin, the pull of his lips, awkward around Genji's length. Stretched obscenely.

The touch is like an electric shock to the sensitive flesh. Hanzo moans. Genji grunts. Bites his lip. Another surge of his cock against Hanzo's tongue. Desire spiking in Hanzo's belly.

He drops a hand to rub it against his own trapped cock. The heel of his palm is warm, familiar weight.

Genji whines at the sight.

He pulls Hanzo's mouth from him.

"Are you okay?" Hanzo asks.

"Yeah. Just. Come here, I have so much more to show you."

He coaxes Hanzo back to the bed with him. Their bodies bump and wrap around one another. Exploring hands. Wandering lips. Hanzo's pants are undone, he kicks them away.

Genji licks a stripe up his throat.

Their hands are intwined.

Hanzo finds his fingers pressed tight against Genji's nipple. His fingernail catches the skin and a throaty groan punches out of Genji. Hanzo does it again.

Amazed.

"I thought that you didn't have sensors here."

"Didn't," Genji says. He won't let Hanzo's hand wander far from his nipple, not that Hanzo is trying particularly hard. He alternates between his nail and the calloused pad of his thumb. They produce separate, but equally rewarding reactions.

Genji is huffing beneath him. Straining and pushing himself into Hanzo's hands.

"Got 'em...after you. You seemed to want them. Sensitive," Genji groans over the word. His cock drags over Hanzo's stomach as he humps up into him. All of his weight is balanced on his toes; his heels and the arches of his feet are angled into the air. His knees are pressing bruises into Hanzo's hip.

But Hanzo is not complaining.

"I love you," Hanzo says.

Genji's eyes flutter shut. He nods.

He looks beautiful. Shattering, shuddering. Coming undone. It makes sense now, why Genji must like watching Hanzo broken down into this same state.

"Can I fuck you?" Hanzo asks. He angles his voice into Genji's ear. He is surprised he's even able to produce the words at all.

"Nnnn yes. Of course. It's what I--" Genji rolls beneath him. Hanzo finds himself with his sweat-slick chest rubbing against Genji's back. The synthetic muscles shift and bunch beneath him. He presses a kiss to the sensor on Genji's neck, just to feel Genji sigh under him.

His hands cup Genji's butt. The firm swell of each cheek. A prefect ass. Hanzo pinches the skin and groans. His thumbs swipe between the cheeks.

New territory.

"Nnne, Hanzo, its," he is saying. "Gentle, gentle; oh Hanzo."

The space is already lubricated. Hanzo pauses. His mind stops.

Genji's asshole flutters against his finger, soft, synthetic. Lubricated.

"Did you prep yourself for me?" Hanzo asks.

It's different than Genji's normal liquid. Thicker, more viscous. Hanzo gathers some of it on his fingertip and rubs it against his thumb.

He can imagine Genji, late to breakfast, fucking himself on his fingers. Or a toy. Preparing himself to seduce Hanzo.

"Didn't want to--have to," Genji pants, his hips shift. His back bows. Begging full-bodied. "To wait. Wanted you to have. I'll be your first, Hanzo. It'll be okay."

"I don't need anyone else," Hanzo says, slipping his finger into that moist, tight channel. "You'll be my last."

Genji keens. His head shakes, hair catching on the pillows, dragging the sheet out of place. "I don't need to be stretched. I can handle it. I'm," he swallows. His voice stutters and fails when Hanzo adds a second finger. He is able to part them with ease. Deep inside, Genji is molten, but sheathed. No wires, nothing to catch or impede. Hanzo presses his cock to the entrance, drops his hips to run it up the length of Genji's crack.

"Just like that, Hanzo," Genji is panting, grinding himself back onto the press of Hanzo's cock. "Oh, god, yeah. Oh please, Hanzo."

It's so much. The heat and the unrelenting pressure. Genji's entrance, lubricated and warm. The head of Hanzo's dick catches on the rim. Genji's babbling increases in pitch.

And Hanzo loses it.

He grabs at Genji's sides, hips hunching against Genji's thighs as Hanzo spills himself against that opening.

Hanzo grits his teeth, choking on his blush, his inability to hold back his orgasm. His cock twitches, pathetic, coming. Not even inside yet. Ridiculous and spent against the curve of Genji's ass.

Genji freezes below him. Keening and broken. He turns his head just enough to catch Hanzo's gaze.

"Holy shit," Genji says.

Deadpan.

Shocked.

"Oh my god, big brother. Did you just--"

Hanzo recoils from him. Covers his face with his hands. Genji is laughing, helpless, pealing giggles. His body collapses to the mattress, it shakes with his mirth.

Hanzo is mortified.

He wants to climb into himself and die.

Genji is snorting. His laughter is uncontrollable, it seems. Hideous and braying. From his belly. Hanzo drops his hands to glare.

"I'm glad this is so entertaining for you," he says.

Genji claps a hand over his own mouth. Rolls to the side, waving his other hand in front of his face.

"Oh, Hanzo," he says, before another wave of giggles fells him. "Oh my fucking god, Hanzo."

There is come on his thighs. It glistens against his skin, drips down it. Hanzo watches it as Genji curls in on himself. His stomach contracts with his laughter. His panting.

But he seems to be calming down some.

His breathing is steadying out. The laughter is only in his exhales. He draws in a breath.

And it passes.

He sits up.

His hair is a mess, falling over his brow, sticking up in the back. He reaches over and touches Hanzo's shoulder. He smiles at Hanzo's exaggerated frown.

"I'm sorry for laughing, but come on, big brother," he says. "You have to..." his voice catches, dissolving as he speaks, "you have to come--" he snorts, turns his head. Laughing again.

Hanzo follows the motion. Rolls the two of them.

Kisses into Genji's chuckling mouth until Genji is breathless for a different reason entirely. They shudder together, Hanzo flips them so Genji is above him. His hands tracing Genji's shoulders, clinging sweaty to the skin.

"Perhaps it would be better like this, after all," Genji says. He thrusts shallowly, cock bumping Hanzo's. Hanzo bites his lip at the pang of arousal he feels. His dick twitches. But he can't quite get it there yet. He still needs a moment.

Genji rolls his knuckles against Hanzo's lips.

"Do you have any lube?" He asks. As nonchalantly as he would ask the time.

Hanzo's teeth click together.

He shuffles and wiggles until he can reach the bedside drawer without losing Genji's weight above him. The bottle is practically full. Genji turns it in his hands before popping the top.

"Are you okay with this?"

"Of course."

"Hanzo..."

"I want you. It's okay, Genji. You can fuck me."

Genji trembles. Hanzo will never get over the way his words seem to have such a visible impact. Genji trickles the lube over his fingers, rubs them together. When they press against Hanzo's ass they are warm.

"You gotta relax for me," Genji says. He kisses the skin of Hanzo's stomach. The muscles quiver and retract. Ticklish. Genji smiles against him. Lifts Hanzo's leg so it is over his shoulder. "Relax," he says again. "We'll start off slow."

Slow is barely slow enough.

Genji circles a finger around him and Hanzo finds himself groaning. Hissing. He bears down against the touch, tightening instinctually.

"No, no," Genji says. Hanzo can feel him working against the resistance. He can feel Genji's pulse in his fingertip. "Relax."

His teeth scrape Hanzo's hips. Lips tight as he bites down. Sucking the skin.

Hanzo's legs twist. A finger slips into him. Gentle and prodding. Spreading the thin coat of lube.

"Are you alright?" Genji asks. His finger withdraws to the tip, sinks back in. Thin and deft. There is a mark on Hanzo's skin, right under Genji's lips. Purpling hickey. Perfectly mouth-shaped. Genji's individual teeth.

"Yes."

"I'm going to add another, okay? Just breath. Stay relaxed and with me, okay?"

Hanzo nods. Shivers when Genji dribbles more lube where his finger is buried. Probably too much, the slide becomes sloppy. Hanzo feels the second finger beyond the squelching application of slick. He knows how red he must be. He bites the back of his hand when Genji spreads his fingers.

An experimental shift.

He looks down at Genji, Genji watching his own fingers disappear into Hanzo with rapt attention.

"Does it feel good?"

Hanzo doesn't know. Not good, not bad. A stretch he is not used to, not one that is wholly comfortable. But he doesn't feel bad either.

"I am fine," he huffs. His breathing is too heavy. Like he has run a marathon, thundering from his lungs.

Genji kisses his cock, softly. Another valiant surge of arousal. A twitch in the skin. Genji laps at the base, humming. His fingers continue their preparation.

Hanzo does not know which sensation to focus on. Too many signals. His cock, hardening under Genji's ministrations is probably the most demanding. But it is a close thing.

Genji's breath against the head, tongue probing at the foreskin. Gentle, drawing.

At the same moment his questing fingers brush against what Hanzo can only assume is his prostate. The world goes momentarily white. Hanzo opens his eyes. He is staring at the ceiling.

"Still with me?"

"Conscious," Hanzo grunts. 

His foot scrapes up Genji's spine.

They need to get on with it.

Suddenly it is urgent.

Genji's fingers flutter against that spot, expected this time, not as blinding. But the sparks of tension and throbbing need are still there. Hanzo spreads his other leg, his tendons protest the stretch but he does not care.

All he cares about is getting open. Getting Genji in him.

"Please," he says.

Genji chuckles against him. Nods. His nose tracks a trail up Hanzo's chest, dragging through the sweat. His lips are salty when they kiss. Slightly musky. Hanzo does not mind.

"Just remember," Genji says, "breathe. I am with you. I will give you everything I can." He has one hand braced by Hanzo's head, his other bumps the backs of Hanzo's thighs. Lining up.

Hanzo tightens his legs around Genji's waist. Turns his head to kiss Genji's wrist.

He wants to look at Genji's expression. He wants to watch them touch this moment together.

But he can't.

Overloaded.

Genji's cock against him, slipping once in the mess of lube, and then catching. Pressing. Filling.

It's too

Fucking tight.

Genji is to too big.

It feels impossible.

Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut. Genji's lips peck at his face.

"Breathe," he is saying, "big brother, I've got you, breathe. It'll feel good soon."

Hanzo tries. It all leaves him in a shaking, pitiful exhale. He draws back in. The oxygen is searing his lungs. Burning in his ass from the stretch, they should have prepared more. Reckless and teenaged of both of them.

"Do you want me to stop," Genji asks. He sounds more wrecked than he looks. Hair hanging in his face, cheeks bright. But his voice sounds wrung out. Every word a fight.

Hanzo's cock flags in the crease of his belly. Genji presses the flat of his palm to it.

"Say the word, brother, and I will stop."

"Don't." Hanzo grits his teeth. He lifts a hand to anchor it on Genji's shoulder. "I can handle this," Hanzo says. "I want it."

Genji shudders. His forehead bumps against Hanzo's and he holds it there. Breathing in Hanzo's air, panting an open-mouthed against one another.

Genji's hips shift.

His cock slides deeper. The head, most of the shaft. His hips lodge against the soft backs of Hanzo's thighs.

He is all in.

They are here.

"It," Hanzo pants, "has not begun to feel good yet, brother."

Genji chuckles, breathless puffing laughter. He skims a thumb under Hanzo's eye, along the top of his cheek. "Getting there, bear with me, Ha-chan."

His hips slide back. Hanzo makes a sound, dissent, backsliding. He clutches at Genji's shoulders.

Genji kisses his cheek. "Not leaving," he says. Hitching back in. Easier the second time, Hanzo's muscles loosening slightly before him.

They keep that pace, slow and easy. More like lovemaking, a tender, boring thing. Hanzo's eyes flutter shut at every in-thrust. Little whispers of Genji's name.

It has begun to feel good, the stretching, filling absoluteness. Together. The two of them. His cock, caught between them, rubs against Genji's abs whenever he moves at a deeper angle.

The familiar building at the base of his spine. Pooling, undeniable heat.

"Genji," he says, "I feel so good."

Genji grins above him. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Genji, nngh, brother, you--"

Genji's hips snap, pace increasing. A counter tempo to Hanzo's grinding words.

"Me?"

"You're making it so good for me. I...haa Genji. I--"

Genji's hand grips his cock. Hanzo tosses his head, his words lost in a tonal keen.

"It's okay, I've got you. Let me see you come on my cock, Hanzo. Let me see how good you feel."

The tension in his belly snaps. Genji's fingers pinching the head of his cock. Genji, deep in him, thrusting harder.

Hanzo closes his eyes and comes with a whimper. It drools out of his cock, across Genji's fingers, drips onto his own trembling stomach.

Genji smiles at him, full of love and teeth and mischievous promise.

"That's it," he says, "God, you're so cute Hanzo."

Genji sits up straighter. Hips colliding more solidly with Hanzo's thighs. There will be bruises in the morning. He loops his elbows under Hanzo's knees, lifts until he has more room to work.

It seems to go quickly from there.

Hanzo, overstimulated as it is, experiences only punches of pleasure. He moans every time Genji goes deep. Genji's thrusts become sloppy, irregular. He bites his own lip, working into Hanzo, staring down at Hanzo.

Hanzo wants to remember every detail, but he already knows how many will be lost to him. How many probably already are.

Genji's breathing catches, his eyes squeeze shut, the familiar crease between his brows.

This Hanzo will remember for all of his days.

Genji comes and it is messy and sticky between Hanzo's thighs. Warm. Alive.

Genji half-falls forward, catches himself with a hand spread over Hanzo's chest. Hanzo's legs pool around them. His muscles feel like jelly, fucked out and shaking.

Genji slips his cock free. The overwhelming emptiness makes Hanzo whine.

"Sorry," Genji says, grinning, guilty, ducked head, pink cheeks. He rolls, spoons on his side presses up against Hanzo. Chest to hip. His head rests on Hanzo's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"'M fine."

"I mean it. That was intense, are you alright?"

Hanzo sighs. He curls to face Genji. Their legs tangle. Their hands. His back aches at the motion, his thighs protest having been spread so wide for so long. Hanzo presses their foreheads together.

"I am fine, Genji."

It is the middle of the day. Sunlight halos Genji's form. His smiling face. His even teeth. Hanzo clutches his side.

He drifts to sleep.

He awakens to Genji's light snoring. Snoring, who would have thought? Hanzo sits up, slowly.

He does not know what has woken him.

Something. Something.

It is still bright outside, warm winter sun. The sheets are rumpled, kicked to the foot of the bed. Hanzo shivers.

He looks around.

Something.

A lingering presence, something that was here and is now gone. Genji sighs, muffled, snuffling. Hanzo gathers the sheets, wraps them around his shoulders.

He heads for the en suite bathroom.

And that's when he sees it.

The door lock.

A simple handle lock.

Unlocked now. Innocuous. Except Hanzo remembers locking it. He remembers locking it. He touches the handle.

It is warm.

Fucking shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all by the way! Everyone of you!!!! See you guys in the next chapter :)


	7. Chapter 7

Hanzo is going to be sick. Nausea coils in his stomach. Sour, dark promise.

He can imagine whoever it is--his father, his fluttering, spinning, panicking brain imagines his father, stern and frowning--holding the door handle. One hand on the handle as they survey the scene in front of them. He and Genji bruised and naked and sleeping. And then they shut the door and they go away.

Hanzo turns the handle, peeks out into the hall.

There is no one.

It is empty.

Hanzo closes the door.

He leans against it. Squeezing his eyes shut. He has to breathe, just like earlier, he has to focus too hard on the inhale. Has to fight to draw the air to his lungs. It tastes humid, tepid, coppery. Over-steeped tea.

Panic.

His fingers spasm on the hardwood.

Genji makes a noise on the bed, sighing in his sleep. His hand stretches into the place where Hanzo had been laying.

Hanzo considers what it would take to kill them both. Before this can spiral any further out of control. Genji doesn't bleed, knives will not do it. But fire perhaps. Inhaling gasoline? Genji has no lungs, no heart.

Genji's eyes open.

And Hanzo regrets thinking it at all.

Genji at the base of the tree, crumpled.

Hanzo sinks down, back pressed tight against the door. Head in his hands.

"Hanzo?"

Hanzo is going to be sick. He scrambles for the bathroom. His feet slap staccato on the tile. He misses the toilet. Vomit, thin and filmy and born from sheer panic, splashes to the floor. Hanzo clutches his knees as it dribbles from him.

Genji is standing at the door. Naked still. He looks confused.

"Hanzo," he says again. He steps forward, rubs his hand down Hanzo's back. The material of the sheet takes some of the sting. Hanzo wants to scream. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Yellow goo, watery phlegm. Hanzo shudders.

"I'm sorry, Hanzo."

"For what?"

"I never should have...I should have realized it was--"

"This has nothing to do with you," Hanzo says. He glances at Genji, the raw hurt on Genji's face. He wants to make it better but he doesn't know how.

"Are you--"

"Genji, I love you, okay? This isn't about that."

Genji doesn't look quite assuaged but he nods. His face is less an open wound. Hanzo stumbles to the sink, splashes water onto his face. Cool, refreshing. It washes some of the vomit flavor from his mouth.

Worked out of it.

For Genji's sake.

He needs to think about this. He needs to plan.

There is a lingering pain at the base of his spine, he twists, trying to loosen it some but it only gets worse. He leans against the sink as Genji strokes up his back again. Soothing.

Hanzo closes his eyes.

He analyzes each feeling within him. There is shame, of course. When is there not shame? But it is not Genji, not sleeping with Genji, that seems to be the root of if. Getting caught, being stupid and reckless enough to be caught, that is where the shame is stemming from.

There is self-loathing. There is doubt.

And then under all of that is a little unfurling knot of peace. It is out. It is known. They no longer have to hide it. Father will shun them, the servants may whisper, but it is out, it is done.

Father will shun them.

Father may kick them out.

Hanzo opens his eyes. He knows little about the real world. He has a credit card his father can easily cut off and a good sense of direction. No cash, no cellphone. Nothing essential for survival.

And Genji.

The nightly plug in. Ceiling strapped. There is nothing portable about it.

Hanzo will be kicked out. Genji will have to stay.

Or worse.

Hanzo turns, suddenly and pulls Genji into him. Probably too tight, Genji's shoulders seem to creak beneath him, but Genji doesn't say a word. Hugs back just as tightly.

"I don't know what's going on," he admits to Hanzo's cheek.

Hanzo shakes his head.

It doesn't matter. Genji doesn't need to get it. Hanzo will fix it. That is the point.

Hanzo loosens his grip enough for Genji to escape the trap of his arms. The vomit on the floor needs to be cleaned before it can dry. Hanzo watches Genji fetch a towel. He takes it before Genji can start.

"I'm sorry," Hanzo says, "for worrying you."

Genji makes a face. Hanzo turns so he can't see it. The vomit soaks into the white plush of the towel, yellowing it. Ruining.

"I'm still worried," Genji says. "You're acting weird."

Hanzo doesn't want Genji to know why. He wants to protect him from this. To be the big brother, shielding his younger from the wrath of their father.

But maybe that isn't fair.

Hanzo sighs. He tosses the towel into the trash. It hangs over the edge, Genji nudges it in with his foot. Complimentary. A good team.

Hanzo looks down at his hands.

"I'm afraid."

"Of this?" Genji asks, tilting his head. Gesturing between the two of them.

Hanzo shakes his head. "Not this. I used to be terrified of--,"

But that's not the point is it? Used to be terrified of letting himself love his AI brother.

Hanzo closes his eyes. "We've been. That is...someone came in. While. While we were sleeping. I don't know who but..." Hanzo rolls his shoulders.

"You're afraid they'll tell Father?" Genji squints. "You're afraid it was Father."

Hanzo makes another vague motion with his shoulders. "It is sort of fucked up," Hanzo gestures between them as Genji had. "This. But I wouldn't change it for the world, Genji. My little brother. Father knowing isn't what I'm truly scared of.

"I'm afraid he'll...that he'll hurt you, Genji. You've outgrown the programming. So time to start fresh, right?"

Genji swallows. It's a human reaction. His throat moves, working down and up. Bobbing. He smiles, softly. It seems out of place in this scenario.

"Oh, Hanzo," he says. His mouth moves. Half-motions, aborted things. He bites his lip. "I want you to come with me, okay?"

Hanzo blinks.

He wants to find their father. He wants to have this fight man to man and without Genji. But Genji steps forward, reaches out to stroke his fingers through Hanzo's hair. His thumb tight to Hanzo's jaw. His pointer catches in a sleep-tangle. Genji parts it gently.

"Will you come with me, big brother?"

"I would go anywhere with you."

Genji nods, biting his lip again.

\--  
They dress in silence.

There is something guilty about Genji's curled shoulders. The duck of his head when Hanzo meets his eye.

But Hanzo was not lying. He would go anywhere with Genji, for Genji. He trusts him with his life. That much will not change.

'Father knows', Hanzo thinks as the climb the stairs to Genji's room. 'He's going to tell me Father has always known.'

It could be almost nothing else.

Hanzo digs his fingernails into his palm as Genji keys the door code in.

The space inside is exactly as Hanzo remembers. The bare bed has gained a few more sheets. One lonely pillow. The cold, umbilical plug. The Sony PlayStation on the the floor.

Genji bypasses the umbilical this time. The cross the room to a quiet, tucked away door on the far wall. The closet.

Genji opens it.

It isn't really a closet at all. The space is too big to rightly be called that. There's an overly large CPU in one corner, a terminal with streaming lines of code. Strange green baubles are hooked to it. Hanzo leans forward to inspect one.

The surface is relatively smooth. Clear glass around the pulsating green core.

Hanzo looks up.

Deeper in the room, and things become a little clearer.

Arms.

Feet.

A hanging torso; wires spilling from its open joints like viscera. One of the nipples has been removed, the skin hangs ragged around the open wound of it. A sensor like the one on Genji's neck can be seen just under the hole, not a port exactly, no opening but the ringed green lights are the same.

And Genji's heads. Lined up in a row like trophies. Seven of them in total. Three match the one he has now.

Ghoulish.

Genji lets Hanzo explore in silence. The gathered evidence of Genji's starkly mechanical being. His undeniable reality, metal joints and wired nerves. Hanzo looks up at one of the heads. It's eyes are open, sightless, all the more unnerving for it. Glassy.

"Hanzo," Genji says. He is standing by the terminal.

Hanzo returns to him.

"It's a bit much, I guess," Genji says.

"It's a lot to take in."

"I didn't bring you to show you that stuff anyway." He touches the monitor. The blipping readings spike and the continue.

"Is that your brain?"

Genji shakes his head. "It's more...like a diary? I guess. Or surveillance?" He reaches up, touches one of the green orbs. They're all slightly different, Hanzo realizes. Shape or glow pattern, each unique in their own small way.

"These," Genji says, "are my brains." He tilts his head. "Or. They were, once. Upgrades and updates and improvements. What I'm trying to tell you, Hanzo, is that nothing ever ends? For me." He fidgets. His fingers press tighter against the brain he is touching.

"I don't get it."

Genji waves his hand. A meandering circle. The motion of his wrist so smooth and hypnotic. "What are you scared of?"

"I'm worried he'll scrap you...everything. Cuz you've clearly gone wrong. You shouldn't--we shouldn't be--"

"Nothing gets scrapped, big brother. Everything gets...reused in someway. It isn't about destroying or...or staring anew. It's about building off of what we have."

"We?"

"This whole process hasn't been Father's alone for a really long time."

Hanzo shakes his head, confused still.

Genji sighs. "Dad knows. Okay? There's the reveal, I can feel you waiting for it. He's known for...a really long time. About my side of it, at least."

"What?" Hanzo, even expecting this, still finds it in himself to be shaken by hearing it so frankly.

"Oh, Hanzo. Do you remember when we were younger?"

"A specific time?"

Genji shakes his head. "All of it?"

"Of course not. There are things that...My memories are--" Hanzo sighs, frustrated with the crypticness. Genji's apparently inability to dumb it down to him. "What does this have to do with anything anyway, Genji?"

"Memories are huge part of being human. They're momentary. Fleeting. Fluid." Genji nods. "Landmark things stick of course, or at least our versions of them. The in-between bits though, they all get...filtered. I hated it. I hated losing anything about you."

Genji touches another one of the brains. "During this model, Father found out I'd been hoarding my memories of you.

"I thought he'd be furious. Here I was, purposefully skipping a process he had put into being. Something to keep me functioning properly, like a human would. Here I was willingly screwing up my own nightly routine so that I could focus all the harder on just you.

"But he wasn't mad," Genji continues, shaking his head slightly. "He was...well. The opposite. I was being willful; I was doing something against his programming. I was growing as a person, stubborn and little bit deceitful. Obsessed."

Genji picks the next brain in the line up. Cradles it between his palms. "And Father was...ecstatic. Can you imagine? Him, of all people, joyous over his son's rebellion."

Hanzo cannot. The idea is a foreign and out of place object. A broken bone, bent wrong, hard to look at.

Genji is holding the brain out. The connectors stretch enough Hanzo can easily take it. It's surprisingly light, thin blown glass around the swirling, galaxy-like innards. It's beautiful; and not in some stringent nor abstract way.

"So he was happy?" Hanzo asks.

"He was thrilled. I was showing my own agency. Maybe I was fucking off what he had wanted, what he had intended, but it was me doing it.

"So he starts going through all the illegal logs I've kept and I mean...we're talking absolute hours of just your face or your ears. Your lips. I was a young teen with a huge crush, there isn't subtle when it comes to that. There's absolutely no such thing as subtlety when it comes to that."

"Was this before or after the tree?"

"After. I was teasing you then. I wanted you to love me because I loved you. But you...you kissed my palm and I...it wasn't just kids' stuff anymore. Suddenly it clicked. But anyway."

Genji tilts his head. "I don't think he ever thought I would seriously approach you. And the fact that he'd created something the could twist its own purpose, learn to love in a way that he hadn't intended...I think that was just another feather in his hat."

"Why didn't you tell me this months ago?"

"Because him believing I've become my own person and you believing it are two very different things."

"But I asked you. And you--he gave you all the..."

Genji laughs. He takes the brain from Hanzo, places it back on the shelf. "If you're worried he gave me a dick to seduce you, Hanzo, you can relax." He gestures to himself, up and down. "The idea has always been to blend in as much as possible. Belly button, nipples, Adam's apple, dick. This," Genji touches his neck port, "is as much an eye sore to him as it is to you."

"As it used to be to me."

Genji smiles. "Yeah. But no, I wasn't lying then. He didn't build me to seduce you, and didn't do anything that would inhibit such a process. But he didn't exactly do anything to stop or stem it either so."

"But we're...so you don't think he would be disappointed."

Genji shrugs. "Maybe you should just talk to him about it?"

"You're joking right?"

Genji sighs, tips his head. "Not really. You guys hardly know each other. Strangers with the same blood who live in the same house and are both too stubborn to bend. Neither of you are as brittle as the other believes, big brother. I think it would be good for you both to clear the air."

Genji touches his forehead, runs his fingers down and along the slope of Hanzo's jaw. Hanzo reaches his hands out, blindly, they slide around Genji's hips, pull the two of the more firmly together. Genji allows the embrace. His arms hook around Hanzo's neck, fingers heavy and assuring tracing the top of his spine, right between his shoulder blades.

"Talk to him," Genji says. "The worst he can be is disappointed, that's all. And I don't even think he'll be that. Don't run the interaction in your head, don't try to predict the outcome, don't imagine the worst. Just talk to him, please, Hanzo."

Just.

Talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took far longer than intended and came out way shorter but I'm still alive and I'm still writing away and I still love you all and all your wonderful support!! Hopefully the next chapter will work smooooother! Cheers, kids, feel free to leave questions, comments or concerns! I'm always here or on tumblr if any y'all wanna chat.


	8. Chapter 8

Talk to him, talk to him, talk to him.

Don't imagine and don't predict. But it's so difficult not to run the scenarios through his head as he heads down the stairs to the basement labs.

Strangers, Genji had called them. And he is not wrong.

Unlike the upstairs labs, which are cordoned off and separated like real rooms, the basement is a workshop like space. An underground garage. Sliding doors and security cameras.

A space big enough for many busy people.

But it's become something else.

Solitary, empty space. Abandoned work and prototypes.

He keys the security code into the door. His mother's birthday. Five digits. They may as well be random numbers. The pad is cold against Hanzo's fingertips, the buttons click hollow as he presses them.

His mother's birthday.

Hanzo barely remembers her. She and the scientists who used to bustle about the lab hold about the same amount of importance in his memories. Hanzo remembers her skirt, sometimes, when he concentrates, holding the hem of the material between his fingers. The tree in the garden. Her stomach, swollen. Like a balloon.

The doors slide open and Hanzo realizes he doesn't want to do this. Doesn't know what to say. His breath probably still smells like vomit. His hair is a mess, Genji's earlier finger combing has only made it more nest-like. He drags his fingers through it, pulls it over his shoulder, no hair tie or strap to keep it back.

But it's too late now.

The camera by the door records his fidgeting. He spares it a glance as he walks through the doors.

The room is as cavernous as the last time he was in here. Tables and workbenches, evidence of his father's old obsessions. Prosthetic limbs and curving shells. Computers, most of them dark and dusty, looming. Hanzo moves through the maze.

Into the newer areas.

Less dust here. The overhead lights seem less stark and cold. Strewn wires on the tables. Stretches of synthetic skin. Genji's spare parts closet only more sprawling.

A torso with breasts. They rise and fall independent of a head or limbs. Simulated breathing.

Hanzo doesn't look to hard at it, or any of the other detritus. He has a purpose here.

His father is near the center of the room.

Folded over a mess of metal and wire, soldering away. The little flame is white with heat, spreads the molten color to the grey metal, gives it life.

Hanzo swallows. Shifts.

His father looks up.

He's wearing glasses that magnify his eyes. Oddly bugged out. His hair, short like Genji's, is going grey at the temples. Hanzo wonders how he's never noticed such a detail before.

Strangers.

The idea of the man before him more real than maybe the man has ever been.

Hanzo licks his lips.

They stare at one another.

Hanzo thinks of the thousand ways he could start this. The million things he could say. Raw words, the start of a hundred fights. He wonders idly if his father would even care enough to raise to the bait of it at this point or they have estranged themselves beyond even that basic interaction.

Hanzo looks down and away, breaks first. He has to. The strict respect he's taught himself, he's had taught to him, is not so easily overcome.

"If you're working on something important," Hanzo says, "I can come back later."

His father seems to slump somewhat. Tension in the lines of his shoulders going lax. He twirls the blow torch between his palms. The metal he was heating has cooled back to lifeless grey.

Hanzo stares at it instead of at his father.

His father clears his throat. Tilts his head. Motion in Hanzo's peripheral vision.

"I did not know you were home," he says. The blow torch wiggles between his hands, vague motions, undecided. His words, by way of explanation, mean little. "I thought you had classes."

Hanzo shrugs. "Not for another two weeks," he says. He debates with himself, finishes the thought. "Do you break into my room on a regular basis then, Father, when I'm away at school?"

He watches his father's face as he says it. The sort of twitching shock. Lips curling into a frown. He needs to shave, dark, molting stubble clings to his chin and cheeks. Streaks of grey in that as well.

His father has become old, aged, he is no longer the young man who brought Genji to Hanzo almost six years ago now. Hanzo has just been too wrapped up in his head to notice the changes.

His expression settles. Still frowning, but not angry. A sulky edge. Hanzo recognizes some of the expression from Genji. A similar shape to their cheeks, to their chins. More noticeable now that Genji has this older frame.

The son built in the image of the father.

"Only sometimes," the man admits. "Genji will go in there, nap in your bed sometimes, usually the case when the door is locked."

Genji invading Hanzo's privacy, unsurprisingly, does not hurt. The thought curls warm in Hanzo's stomach. Genji napping in his bed, missing him when he is not there.

"Aren't you shocked?" Hanzo asks. "Aren't you going to ask me about it?"

His father shakes his head. "I wasn't going to. Is this really a conversation that you want to have?"

It would be something more than what they have. It would be nice to have something. Something more than a breakfast hello, stiff and formal. Something more than a nodded head when they pass in the halls.

"I'm sure that I--," Hanzo bites his lip. Closes his eyes. "If you don't have anything to say to me then, I suppose I'll just go."

It's as acidic as he can get. He cannot begin to broach all the other things. The amassed hurts. He clenches his hands at his sides, turns to go. The tile of the floor is cold against his heels.

His father swallows, audibly. His throat clicking. Hanzo stands with his back to him. It's easier that way. Maybe it's easier on both of them.

"Hanzo," his father says.

Hanzo stays. He doesn't go. He waits.

He can hear his father breathing.

"Would you like to see something?" His father asks.

Hanzo glances over his shoulder. It is enough of an affirmation, apparently. His father stands, strolls to a computer on another table.

Graphs and charts spew across the screen. The readouts mean nothing to Hanzo. His father punches in something. The screen dims. The numbers fade.

"Recording?" A female voice asks. The darkness on screen shifts.

And then it is her face, filling the space. Her hair pulled back. The collar of her shirt is wrinkled.

It takes Hanzo a minute to recognize her.

Over the years, his mother's face has changed. Thinner. Crows feet he doesn't remember her having before.

"I've got the list," she holds a paper in front of the camera. "So I'll just read down it, okay? I'm going to give you four second pauses between each one. Syntax manipulation from there is on you."

She licks her lips.

"What is this?"

"That's your mother."

"That isn't what I'm asking."

His father shrugs. The video continues behind them. Hanzo's mother, gone all these years, fled from her family. The loss of the baby had driven her to solitude, lasting sadness. Hanzo doesn't remember it. The servants sometimes speak of it, but never when they think he can hear. Behind their hands they recall her tragedy. Her sickness. Her grief.

And now, here she is. Reading nonsense phrases off a piece of paper.

"The quick, clever brown fox," she recites.

Hanzo looks down at his hands. "What is she doing?"

His father looks around, the equipment laying close by. Robot parts, limbs and wires and clips.

"She's...helping me to give birth to something we couldn't before. Genji...is a success, a masterpiece. There is no sense in being modest. But Genji is not what I originally set out to make."

The torso with breasts, moving on their own. Delicate fingers. Slimly muscled thighs.

"And she's helping you?"

"She...she thinks it would be good for me."

"She isn't even dead."

It isn't like Genji. Built partly to replace something long since lost. Filling a ragged, torn hole in their lives.

"It was her choice to leave," Hanzo says. "Her choice to stay away."

His father shakes his head.

There is something tired about him. An old man and an old woman Hanzo has never truly known.

"I don't know anyway to convince you otherwise. I don't know how to tell you about after...after the accident. You were so young. And your mother--"

Hanzo will not feel bad for her. He cannot. He doesn't feel anything at all. A lack of any true emotion in regards to her.

Hanzo shakes his head.

"So what is this supposed to mean to me?" He asks. "Genji is no longer your project? You've moved onto better things? Are you going to scrap him?"

"Of course not." His father sounds scandalized. The first real hint of the man Hanzo remembers. "I'm showing you this so you will understand. You aren't...I could not judge you for...for what has happened because..."

His father's hands trace circles in the air.

They fall flat.

"Hanzo," his mother on the video feed says.

Hanzo looks over at her. She is still reading from the paper; this is a recording. It always has been. The lines around her eyes have tightened. Four seconds pass.

She reads the next phrase.

"Does she ask for me?" Hanzo asks.

"Will it make you feel better if I say that she does?"

"No."

"She does not. She doesn't ask about me either."

Hanzo looks down.

"Genji has outgrown any more upgrades I could provide for him here," his father says. "He's moved beyond my capacity to help. Developed far further than I've ever...He could pass a Turing test, easily. He has grown into a true person."

Hanzo shrugs. He may have come to accept this face slower than their father, but he has come to accept it. Genji's autonomy is no longer a question in his mind, it is fact.

"You don't know what that means?"

"You have already said you will not scrap him."

Hanzo's father nods. He gestures to another table. Another tangled mess of wires, incomprehensible to Hanzo. He walks over to them, shifts through them.

Some of the wires are thicker than other. Hanzo remembers sliding it home. Genji shuddering beneath him.

"You are...making him..."

"Portable," his father finishes, nodding. "It seems about time for it. The updates can be run remotely. It's only a matter of...connecting him to them. Transferring them."

Hanzo doesn't care about the technical jargon of it. He turns the wires in his hands.

Portable.

"Does Genji know?"

"He is aware that there is little more for me to upgrade. He is aware that the prototype brain he has is the most advance stage our current technology can reach."

"But he doesn't know about this?" Hanzo shakes the wire in his hand for emphasis.

"I have not yet told him."

Hanzo shuts his eyes.

Genji.

Portable.

An option he has never fully had the chance to consider. Portable.

"Are you going to send him away?"

His father licks his lips. The motion is slow, deliberate. "I have...pulled some strings. I have connections in the states."

Fellow scientists he hasn't alienated. Hanzo almost doesn't believe it. He remembers them leaving, the exodus of it, even though he was young. Five at the most. Maybe six. Talk of playing God and the implications and the condemnation.

"You are sending him away."

"I am...helping. He will not grow here. He cannot learn anything more. Out in the world, experiencing things is where he belongs. Not stunted. Not trapped. Not neutering himself for the sake of..."

"Of me?"

His father swallows, frowns. "It's not judgement."

"It is judgement. You have handed down the sentence and we will be parted."

"You have your studies. You are doing well. Perhaps in a year or two--"

"He will not go without me."

His father shrugs, half nods. "Unless you tell him to."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because it is what he needs. Because it is a choice he will not make."

Because you love him.

His father does not say it.

The words hang between them all the same.

Because to love is to put someone above yourself. Genji has shown him that time and time again.

Hanzo squeezes his hands around the cord, as if he could strangle it.

"I should go," Hanzo says. "You clearly have much to work on."

"I don't plan to tell him, Hanzo. I'm leaving that to you. It is in your hands now."

Of course it is.

More responsibility that Hanzo does not want.

A gift from Father, with love.

Again, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry I disappeared forever there. I struggggggled with the right voice and tone for Dadmada but like...huge Huge HUGE shout out to Qyoo for being ever vigilant in talking me up when I over think things.
> 
> Hope you all stuck around. I'm pretty solid in the thought we got about 2 more chapters left. Let us strap in for that, eh??
> 
> As always thanks for reading! See you next time! Feel free to leave me comments, concerns etc


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: whynotmyart here with the blessings. Check it out, send them love, I will forever be in awe of their massive, massive talent.
> 
> http://whynotmyart.tumblr.com/post/157960900446/thanks-vrunkas-for-breaking-my-heart-with-your

"Did it go well?"

It is dinner. Sort of dinner. Hanzo's old eating habits rearing up again. A few leaves of lettuce he can call a salad, a squishy tomato left to long in the fridge.

Genji is at the door.

"I was sort of worried," he says, tipping his head. "When you didn't come back to me."

Hanzo flips a piece of the lettuce over. Toying with it, instead of eating. Genji frowns. Sits across from him.

"Are you okay, Hanzo?"

"I--"

What can he say? Father has made it so you can travel. Father would like you to visit the States. Father would like me to stop stunting your growth.

"I am fine, Genji."

Genji's eyes narrow. He tips his head again, the other way.

"You spoke to him, then?"

"We spoke."

"And he does not mind?"

"I suppose not. He...he is working on another project. I think I was keeping him from it."

"Well, I mean. You know him." Genji grins. Genji does not understand. Cannot understand.

Hanzo has thought about the implications of his father's words since he left the workshop some two and half hours ago.

Neutering himself for the sake of you.

Genji, still the favored son. The one being held back by his brother's affections. The robot, stunted by the true son's love.

It hurts.

It wriggles at the wounds of old jealousy. Stabs at the scars.

Hanzo closes his eyes.

"Do you love me, Genji?"

Genji's grin is still present in his words. It does not falter an inch, from what Hanzo can tell.

"Of course I love you, Hanzo."

"Forever?"

"For always. Did something happen?"

"He had a video of my mother. He played it for me."

It is not what hurts. It is not the problem. Her words, saying Hanzo's name. It had not hurt him in the way perhaps it should have.

A woman whose only memory in her son's mind is a skirt.

"I don't know really anything about her," Genji says. He shrugs. "Father doesn't..."

"He's building her, I think. Like you. Autonomous. Something he hopes to fuck in the end." Hanzo turns over another lettuce leaf. Spears a slice of tomato with his chopstick. The insides ooze, gelatinous, messy. "Of course, autonomous, she left him once. I don't know why he is baiting the trap again."

"You don't think it will work out?"

"You didn't know her."

"No offense, Hanzo, but I'd venture to say you didn't either. I may not have the memories, but I know you were very young when she left. Five or so?"

Hanzo is not offended. He feels the way his expression twists though, like he is. Like it feels like anything.

"I think I was six."

"What happened in the video?"

"Nothing," Hanzo says. "She read off a list of words. Syllables that can be cut apart and reworked into her vocabulary."

"Was it nice to see her?" Genji asks.

The tomato oozes. The tomato bleeds.

"I don't know," Hanzo says.

"Is it why you're acting so odd?"

Hanzo sighs. Shrugs.

"Hanzo. Big brother," Genji taps his fingers against the table top. He bites his lip. "How many times must I assure you that you can tell me anything?"

One hundred.

One thousand.

The assurances are not enough. They do not promise forever.

"Can we...go to my room?" Hanzo asks.

Genji blinks. His expressions shifts. Clear calculations. "Not still sore are you?"

He is, if focuses too hard on it. A twinge in his spine that has not yet faded fully.

Hanzo shakes his head. "I'm not asking to have sex with you. Not right now anyway."

Genji licks his lips. Nods. "Whatever you need, brother. Whenever you need it. I am always here for you, here with you. Finish your food and we will go."

With you.

Here for you.

Always.

Hanzo lifts the tomato to his lips.

And bites.

\--

"I thought--nnhg, brother, I thought you did not," Genji is panting. Pressing back against him. The metal of his neck port is warm against Hanzo's lips. The circular insistence of Hanzo's fingers.

They have been laying in each others' arms for less than twenty minutes when the temptation becomes too great. Hanzo runs his thumb up the line of Genji's trap, his fingers pressing against the port.

Genji has to go.

Hanzo loves him too much to keep him here.

Stunted.

And following him to America is not an option. Not with school starting back up. Unfair to ask Genji to wait, but too soon to be put off, to transfer.

"Ha. Ha-chan. You," Genji grinds back against him. His leg lifts, arm raised to sink his fingers into Hanzo's hair. 

Hanzo's fingers move with more purpose. The little doors of Genji's port slide open. The space inside is much as Hanzo remembers. Snagging wire, non-insulated, not meant for this intrusion.

Genji shudders. Grabs at Hanzo's shoulder, his hip.

Hanzo kisses Genji's hairline, right above the top of where his fingers are gently caressing. He blows into the port, a teasing little puff of air and Genji goes rigid, then immediately lax.

"Fuck, Hanzo. Ha. Nnng. Big brother, just. I just need."

Need.

It is what he needs.

Hanzo's fingers curl. Catching on the bundled wires, not careful enough, delving through them to press and slide against Genji's walls.

Genji sobs. Wrecked beyond meaning. He presses his ass to Hanzo's crotch, rutting against Hanzo. Trying to pull them both to that place.

But Hanzo is barely hard.

He presses his free hand to the lump of Genji's erection. His body's all too human desires. The button comes undone easily, the zipper parts. Genji's flesh is moist against his palm, his lubricant blood, his lubricant come. Hanzo curls his fingers tight against the skin.

Genji comes, Hanzo feels it in the way Genji shivers and shakes in his grip. The sudden, spreading wetness on the front of Genji's jeans. Across Hanzo's hand.

He is panting. His eyes are shut.

When they open, he glances over his shoulder to meet Hanzo's gaze.

The doors on his neck slide closed. Hanzo swallows, wipes his fingers on the bed spread. Both hands, absolutely filthy.

"Sorry," he says.

Genji half-grins. Shakes his head. His hair flops across his forehead and Hanzo fixes it, brushes it back.

"Sorry? Hanzo, really? That was certainly something," Genji says. "I wasn't expecting it, after this morning's..." He shakes his head again. "I'm not complaining."

Hanzo ducks his head, balances it on Genji's shoulder. He's blushing. Genji strokes his cheek, his knuckles are cool against Hanzo's burning skin.

"I love you," Hanzo says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Genji breathes against him. They shift, together, until Hanzo ends up spooned to Genji's side, his head on Genji's chest. Hand on Genji's stomach.

The material of his t-shirt wrinkles under Hanzo's hand. The mess at the front of his jeans.

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Hanzo asks.

"It feels pretty gross but...I don't. Really want to move." Genji's hands pet through his hair. They both need a shower, but Hanzo will not be the one to suggest they take it together.

And Hanzo will not give up these precious, quiet moments.

His eyes flutter shut. Genji's touches lull him into a doze. A half-sleep. It's getting late. Outside his window the sun has gone red, begun its descent. Soon it will be night.

"If you were able to do anything," Hanzo asks, "what would you do?"

"You mean like...for life?"

"In general."

Genji licks his lips. "That's a stupid question, you know. Unfair. Because my answer is whatever you would do, and you won't like that answer."

Hanzo does not like that answer.

"Truly," he says. "You would just...Follow me, for the rest of your life?"

"It's not exactly like it's something I think about a lot, you know, big brother. Planning ahead..." He shakes his head, his fingers tighten, just the slightest in Hanzo's hair. "I'm more an in the moment sort of existence."

"And if the moment presented itself that you could do anything?"

Genji shrugs, his shoulders roll awkwardly against the mattress, shift Hanzo's head on his chest. "I don't know," Genji says. "I don't know what I would do."

Hanzo bites his lip. Anything. Anything.

"I do not really remember my mother leaving," Hanzo says. Genji is silent, his breathing still in rhythm. Waiting for whatever Hanzo will say next.

Anything. Anything.

"I woke up and I...came to breakfast and everyone. I think. Maybe I was escorted. I was young."

"Did you cry?"

"I don't remember. But I...I will cry when you go."

Genji is silent.

Anything. Anything.

"What are you talking about, Hanzo?"

"Father has...what he was working on. One of the many things is a...An adaptor...I guess. To make you."

"Leave?"

"To give you the chance."

Genji's fingers still, gripping his shoulder. "To travel? Where would you like to see, brother? This is good news, isn't it?"

"Perhaps?"

He can feel Genji, processing the conversation. He can feel it in the tension in Genji's fingers. The hum and click of the pulse in his palm.

"You would cry because you expect me to go without you. That I would leave you? I am not your mother, Hanzo, I don't think I have her cruelty."

Her abstract distance. Her depressive voids. Hanzo has them. He can feel the chasms of them within him. But that isn't the point.

"Would it still be cruel if I wanted you to go?" Hanzo tips his head to meet Genji's gaze. His chin balancing on the slight padding of Genji's pectoral. The soft tissue, fiber weaving.

Genji bites his lip.

"I would not leave you. You're saying what Father has told you to. You are not..."

"Genji."

"No!" Genji's face, the man's face. Hanzo recognizes his expression though, from the younger faces. The scrunched brow, the downcast eyes.

"Genji, you are making it impossible."

Impossible. You are making it impossible, Ha-chan.

"I don't want you to go, of course I don't," Hanzo says, softly. He rubs his thumb across Genji's bottom lip, watching the way the soft skin catches against him. "But. Loving someone is putting them above yourself and...and father is right. You've. Become everything you can. Here."

Genji shakes his head. Bites his lip harder, pulling it out from under Hanzo's touch with his teeth. Bared. "You're putting words in my mouth. I never meant you to--"

"Use them against you?"

Love isn't a weapon, but Hanzo feels like he is using it as such. Prodding Genji away. He sits up but keeps his hand against Genji's stomach. The quivering beneath his palm, the shuddering closeness to a breakdown.

Can Genji cry?

Hanzo has never found out that answer.

He doesn't wish to now. He leans forward, kisses Genji's mouth, gentle, reassuring.

"Why can't you just come with me?" Genji asks against his lips. His eyes are closed. His lashes are dark against his cheeks.

"School, mostly. A future to work on. Maybe, after the semester or next year I can...transfer. Join you. But. I'm...I am doing well, where I am."

"Then I can wait. Until you are done."

"Genji..."

"Where is he trying to send me, big brother?"

"America."

Genji shakes his head. "It's too far. Tokyo I could accept, China even. But America...I will wait until you are done and we will go together."

Genji's hands grip at his shirt, white-knuckled grip in the soft material.

"You must go."

"I won't know anyone."

"Exactly. Father is...exceedingly proud and he wouldn't be encouraging this if he didn't think you were ready. You will make friends, you will meet so many people."

"And you will be alone."

Hanzo sighs. There it is. The thing they both have known for years. Without Genji, Hanzo has no one. As solitary and uncompromising as their father. As depressed and indulgent as his mother.

"Genji...it's. Not like that. I'll be fine. We'll get you a phone. We will keep in touch. And then...and then I will join you. Next semester. In the summer."

"Aren't you scared that I will have moved on? Why do want to send me away?"

Hanzo shrugs. The words sting. Old fears again. Genji's love as merely a product of his programming; something easily slipped once he is no longer around Hanzo.

But Hanzo has grown, in these past few months especially.

And the words don't hurt the way Genji means them to.

"I'm not sending you away."

"That is exactly what you are doing. And I don't know why." Genji is blushing, bright and spotty across his cheeks.

"Because...you need it."

"So now it is in your interest as well, to decide what I need."

"Genji..."

"Hanzo. Just." He leans forward, hands clutching at Hanzo's shoulders. His head buried in Hanzo's neck. "Big brother, do you love me?"

"I love you more than anything, Genji. My stubborn little brother."

He can feel Genji blinking, lashes brushing the skin under his chin. "I'll go, Hanzo. If that is what you want. But I..."

He trails off. Hanzo touches his knuckles, gently loosens his grip. "It's okay, Genji," he says, "it's okay."

And there, in his lap, wrapped up in one another, Hanzo finds his answer. Dampness on his collar, wetness on Genji's cheeks.

Too human.

Down to even the most painful specifics.

Hanzo kisses away Genji's tears. Murmurs quiet platitudes, unoriginal assurances. They will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Everything will be okay.

\--

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes. For the last time, Genji."

"Alright, allllllllright. I'm just checking you know. Can't be too careful. Don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it."

Hanzo bites his lip. The terminal is busy, crowded, loud. The height of mid-winter, an odd time to travel, but people are doing just that.

It's been two weeks since their conversation. Since the decision had been cast.

Genji shifts the bag at his feet. Wraps his fingers around the backpack he's wearing.

Two weeks.

And every second apart has felt like a splitting, rending chore. Classes have been torture.

Hanzo touches the scarf Genji is wearing, yellow, embroidered. It clashes with his hair and the dark jacket he is wearing.

"I already regret it."

"I don't have to go."

But they both know he does. Hanzo cups his cheek, pinches the skin. An attempt to lighten the mood. It doesn't really work. But this crowded location is not the place for their quiet intimacies.

They have spent as much time as possible these last few days with one another. Genji has cried on more than one occasion.

Hanzo, so far, has not.

The airport PA crackles to life and both Hanzo and Genji stiffen. An announcement is made. A woman's voice over the intercom, cheery, bright. She announces a different flight.

Genji chuckles. Shuts his eyes. Relaxes into Hanzo's grip.

"Do you have your phone?"

"Of course." Genji pats his pocket. The jeans he is wearing are tight. Vaguely, Hanzo is jealous. People are going to see Genji.

See Genji.

And not just a robot.

And not just a project.

And everyone is going to love him.

After all, Hanzo does.

Hanzo tugs on the scarf, it loosens before Genji steps forward. Fully into his space. Sharing a breath.

Hanzo glances around.

No one is watching. They are all saying their own goodbyes, doing there own things. Genji's lips curl into a grin.

Completely shit eating.

Hanzo rolls his eyes. Pushes up on his toes and presses a quick kiss to Genji's cheek. Genji's forehead.

Hesitantly, gently, Genji's lips.

When he pulls back, steps away, Genji is misty-eyed once more. Hanzo fiddles with the ends of his scarf.

"Call me," he says, "when you land?"

"Of course I will, Hanzo."

Hanzo nods once. Curt.

The PA comes to life again. And the same woman announces the flight. Genji's flight.

Time to go.

Hanzo clenches his hand. The scarf loosens further. Pulls free from around Genji's neck.

"Keep it," Genji says, shaking his head when Hanzo goes to rewrap it about his neck. "Think of me."

"I will. I do. I--" his voice catches. Trips. He bites his lip, sharper now, pain across the skin. Grounding, but not good enough. The tears on his cheeks are hot, stinging things.

Genji wipes one with his thumb. The liquid is clear against his skin. Shining.

He has to go.

Hanzo shoves him at the hip, lightly. Encouraging. He holds the scarf to his face. Genji takes the hint. Turns. Heads for the boarding area. He looks back over his shoulder more than once.

And then he is lost in the crowd.

And then he is gone.

Hanzo lets out a shuddering breath. The scarf shakes in his grip. He tugs it around his own neck, buries his chin in it.

Genji is gone.

Genji is gone.

But the semester is not so long. They will be together again soon. And when Hanzo gets there, he cannot wait to see all the new amazing experiences that Genji will have to share.

Maybe it's sad, living his life vicariously and mirrored through his robot brother. But Hanzo doesn't truly mind it anymore.

He not sure that he ever really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left, more of an epilogue than anything else so let me say my goodbyes here.
> 
> This piece was only possible because of Qyoo and like...I know when I asked if I could write something for her sketches she was not expecting 10 freaking chapters of angst and drama and robot what have yous. She has been an amazing absolutely steadfast support and this couldn't have happened without her. So thank you Qyoo, not only for inspiring this, but for being there when I needed prodding and someone to throw my (often time weird) ideas at.
> 
> I also want to thank everyone of you who has commented, followed and enjoyed this fic! Y'all make me smile and squeal and just generally get flushed and embarrassed in public. Every comment makes my day, and all of you are amazing!!
> 
> And I guess lastly; my normal note. Come and talk to me on tumblr or find me here! Though this piece has come to a close (or almost, we got the explicit epilogue chapter to go) I'm always down for talking about Shimadas or headcanons or prompts.
> 
> If I missed any tags, let me know. Otherwise I'll see you guys in the epilogue.

**Author's Note:**

> Bloooooooooop and there'a chapter 1. There is more incoming, keep an eye out for chapter 2, my friends!


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